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UNIVERSITY 
COLLEGE 
LIBRARY 


Presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
LIBRARY 


NORAH  DF  PENCIER 


THE 

WORKS 


O  F 


BENJONSON, 

IN  NINE  VOLUMES. 

WITH  NOTES  CRITICAL  AND  EXPLANATORY, 
AND  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  MEMOIR/ 

BY  W.  GIFFORD,  ESQ. 


The  Muses'  fairest  light  in  no  dark  time ; 

The  wonder  of  a  learned  age ;  the  line 

Which  none  can  pass ;  the  most  proportion'd  wit, 

To  nature,  the  best  judge  of  what  was  fit; 

The  deepest,  plainest,  highest,  clearest  pen ; 

The  voice  most  echo'd  by  consenting  men  ; 

THE  SOUL  WHICH  ANSWER'D  BEST  TO  ALL  WELL  SAID 

BY  OTHERS,  AND  WHICH  MOST  REQUITAL  MADE. 

CLEVELAND. 


VOLUME  THE  EIGHTH. 

CONTAINING 

MASQUES,  &c. 

EPIGRAMS. 

UNDERWOODS. 


LONDON: 


PRINTED  FOR  G.  AND  W.  NICOL  ;  F.  C.  AND  J.  RIVINGTON  ;  CADELL 
AND  DAVIES  ;  LONGMAN  AND  CO.  ',  LACK.INGTON  AND  CO.  ; 
R.  H.  EVANS  J  J.  MURRAY  ;  J.  MAWMAN  ;  J.  CUTHELL  ;  J.  BLACK  ; 
BALDWIN  AND  CO.;  RODWELL  AND  MARTIN  ;  AND  R.  SAUNDERS; 

By  fV.  Buhner  and  Co.  Cleveland-row,  St.  James't. 
1816. 


(\ 


TR 


NOV241965     |) 


TO  HIMSELF  AND  TO  HIS  HONOURS; 

In  the  presentation  at  Court  on  Twelfth-night, 

1623. 


Qui  se  mirantur,  in  illos 

Virus  habt :  nos  hcec  novimus  esse  nihil. 


VOL,  VIII.  B 


TIME  VINDICATED,  &c.]  This  Entertainment,  which  forms  a 
kind  of  retort  courteous  to  the  scurrilous  satires  now  dis- 
persed with  mischievous  activity,  appears  only  in  the  second 
folio.  The  light  parts  of  it  are  composed  with  great  gaiety 
and  humour  ;  and  the  singing  and  dancing  must  have  been 
given  with  great  effect  among  the  rich  and  beautiful  concomi- 
tants of  scenery,  &c.  that  surrounded  them. 

In  the  Dulwich  College  MS.  this  is  called  the  Prince's  Masque; 
its  unusual  splendor  seems  to'  have  induced  the  Master  of  the 
Revels  (Sir  John  Astley)  to  enter  into  a  more  particular  men- 
tion of  it  than  is  common  with  these  costive  gentlemen. 

"  Upon  New-year's  day  at  night,  the  Alchemist  was  acted  by 
the  King's  players. 

«  Upon  Sonday,  being  the  19th  of  January,  (1623)  the  Princes 
Masque  appointed  forTwelfedaye,  was  performed.  Thespeeches 
and  songs  composed  by  Mr.  Ben  Johnson,  and  the  scene  made  by 
Mr.  Inigo  Jones,  which  was  three  times  changed  during  the 
tyme  of  the  Masque,  wherein  the  first  that  was  discovered  was 
a  prospective  of  Whitehall,  with  the  Banqueting  House  ;  the 
second  was  the  Masquers  in  a  cloud ;  and  the  third  a  forest. 
The  French  embassador  was  present, 

"  Antemasques  were  of  tumblers  and  jugglers.  The  Prince 
did  lead  the  measures  with  the  French  embassadors  wife. 

"  The  measures,  braules,  corrantos,  and  galliards  being  ended, 
the  Masquers  with  the  ladies  did  daunce  two  contrey  daunces, 
•where  the  French  embassadors  wife  and  Mademoysal  St.  Luke 
did  daunce."  Malone's  Hist,  of  the  Eng.  Stage. 


TIME  VINDICATED. 


The  Court  being  seated,  a  Trumpet  sounded,  and 
FAME  entered,  followed  by  the  CURIOUS,  the 
EYED,  the  EARED,  and  the  NOSED.* 

Fame.  Give  ear,  the  worthy,  hear  what  Fame 
proclaims. 

Ears.  What,  what  ?  is't  worth  our  ears  ? 

Eyes.  Or  eyes  ? 

Nose.  Or  noses  ? 
For  we  are  curious,  Fame;  indeed,  THE  CURIOUS. 

Eyes.  We  come  to  spy. 

Ears.  And  hearken. 

Nose.  And  smell  out. 

Fame.  More  than  you  understand,  my  hot  in- 
quisitors. 

Nose.  We  cannot  tell. 

Eyes.  It  may  be. 

Ears.  However,  go  you  on,  let  us  alone. 

Eyes.  We  may  spy  out  that,  which  you  never 
meant. 

Nose.  And  nose  the  thing  you  scent  not.   First, 
whence  come  you  ? 

Fame.  I  came  from  Saturn. 

Ears.  Saturn  !  what  is  he  ? 

Nose.  Some  Protestant,  I  warrant  you,  a  time- 
server, 
As  Fame  herself  is. 

1  The  Eyed,  &c.]  It  appears,  from  the  sequel,  that  the  masks 
of  the  performers  were  furnished  with  numerous  eyes,  ears}  and 
noses,  respectirely. 

Bg 


4  TIME  VINDICATED. 

Fame.  You  are  near  the  right. 
Indeed,  he's  Time  itself,  and  his  name  CHRONOS. 

Nose.  How  !  Saturn !  Chronos !  and  the  Time 

itself! 
You  are  found  :  enough.   A  notable  old  pagan! 

Ears.  One  of  their  gods,  and  eats  up  his  own 
children. 

Nose.  A  fencer,  and  does  travel  with  a  scythe, 
'Stead  of  a  long  sword, 

Eyes.  Hath  been  oft  cail'd  from  it, 
To  be  their  lord  of  Misrule.1 

Ears.  As  Cincinnatus 
Was  from  the  plough,  to  be  dictator. 

Eyes.  Yes. 
We  need  no  interpreter  :  on,  what  of  Time? 

Fame.  The  Time  hath  sent  me  with  my  trump 

to  summon 

All  sorts  of  persons  worthy,  to  the  view 
Of  some  great  spectacle  he  means  to-night 
To  exhibit,  and  with  all  solemnity. 

Nose.  O,  we  shall  have  his  Saturnalia. 

Eyes.  His  days  of  feast  and  liberty  again. 

Ears.  Where  men  might  do,  and  talk  all  that 
they  list. 

Eyes.  Slaves  of  their  lords. 

Nose.  The  servants  of  their  masters. 

Ears.  And  subjects  of  their  sovereign. 

Fame.  Not  so  lavish. 

*  To  be  their  lord  of  Misrule.]  "In  the  feast  of  Christmass, 
there  was  in  the  king's  house,  wheresoever  he  was  lodged,  a  lord 
of  'misrule,  or  master  of  merry  disports  ;  and  the  like  had  ye  in 
the  house  of  every  noble  man  of  honour,  or  good  worship,  were 
he  spiritual  or  temporal."  Stow.  In  the  following  verses  the 
poet  alludes  to  that  liberty  which  reigned  amongst  the  Romans 
during  the  Saturnalia,  or  feasts  of  Saturn.  These  were  ap- 
pointed to  remind  them  of  the  general  equality  between  all  men 
in  the  first  age.  WHAL. 


TIME  VINDICATED.  5 

Ears.  It  was  a  brave  time  that! 
Eyes.  This  will  be  better : 
I  spy  it  coming,  peace  !   All  the  impostures, 
The  prodigies,  diseases,  and  distempers, 
The  knaveries  of  the  time,  we  shall  see  all  now. 
Ears.   And    hear   the    passages,  and    several 

humours 

Of  men,  as  they  are  sway'd  by  their  affections  : 
Some    grumbling,   and    some    mutining,    some 

scoffing, 
Some    pleased,   some    pining  ;    at  all  these  we 

laughing. 
Nose.  I  have  it  here,  here,  strong,  the  sweat 

of  it, 

And  the  confusion,  which  I  love — I  nose  it; 
It  tickles  me. 

Eyes.  My  four  eyes  itch  for  it. 

Ears.  And    my  ears   tingle ;    would  it  would 

come  forth  : 

This  room  will  not  receive  it. 
Nose.  That's  the  fear. 

Enter  CHRONOMASTIX. 

Chro.  What,  what,  my  friends,  will  not  this 

room  receive  ? 
Eyes.  That  which  the  Time  is  presently  to 

shew  us. 
Chro.  The  Time  !  Lo,  I,  the  man  that  hate  the 

time, 

That  is,  that  love  it  not ;  and  (though  in  rhyme 
I  here  do  speak  it)  with  this  whip  you  see, 
Do  lash  the  time,  and  am  myself  lash  free. 
Fame  Who's  this  ? 

Ears.  'Tis  Chronomastix,  the  brave  satyr. 
Nose-   The    gentleman-like   satyr,    cares    for 
nobody, 


6  TIME  VINDICATED. 

His  forehead  tipt  with  bays,  doyou  not  know  him? 

Eyes.  Yes,  Fame  must  know  him,  all  the  town 
admires  him. 

Chro.  If  you  would  see  Time  quake  and  shake, 

but  name  us, 
It  is  for  that,  we  are  both  beloved  and  famous. 

Eyes.  We  know,  sir  :  but  the  Time's  now  come 
about. 

Ears.  And  promiseth  all  liberty. 

Nose.  Nay,  license. 

Eyes.  We  shall  do  what  we  list. 

Ears.  Talk  what  we  list. 

Nose.  And  censure  whom  we  list,  and  how  we 
list. 

Chro.  Then  I  will  look  on  Time,  and  love  the 

same, 
And  drop  my  whip :  who's  this  ?   my  mistress, 

Fame  ! 

The  lady  whom  I  honour,  and  adore  ! 
What  luck  had  I  not  to  see  her  before  ! 
Pardon  me,  madam,  more  than  most  accurst, 
That  did  not  spy  your  ladyship  at  first ; 
T'  have  given  the  stoop,  and  to  salute  the  skirts 
Of  her,  to  whom  all  ladies  else  are  flirts. 
It  is  for  you,  I  revel  so  in  rhyme, 
Dear  mistress,  not  for  hope  I  have,  the  Time 
Will  grow  the  better  by  it :  to  serve  Fame 
Is  all  my  end,  and  get  myself  a  name. 

Fame.  Away,  I  know  thee  not,  wretched  im- 
postor, 

Creature  of  glory,  mountebank  of  wit, 
Self-loving  braggart,  Fame  doth  sound  no  trumpet 
To  such  vain  empty  fools  :  'tis  Infamy 
Thou  serv'st,  and  folio  w'st,  scorn  of  all  the  Muses ! 
Go  revel  with  thine  ignorant  admirers, 
Let  worthy  names  alone. 

Chro.  O,  you,  the  Curious, 


TIME  VINDICATED.  7 

Breathe  you  to  see  a  passage  so  injurious, 
Done  with  despight,  and  carried  with  such  tumour 
'Gainst  me,  that  am  so  much  the  friend  of  rumour? 
I  \yould  say,  Fame  ?  whose  muse  hath  rid  in  rapture 
On  a  soft  ambling  verse,  to  every  capture, 
From  the  strong  guard,  to  the  weak  child  that 

reads  me, 

And  wonder  both  of  him  that  loves  or  dreads  me ; 
Who  with  the  lash  of  my  immortal  pen 
Have  scourg'd  all  sorts  of  vices,  and  of  men. 
Am  I  rewarded  thus?  have  I,  I  say, 
From  Envy's  self  torn  praise  and  bays  away, 
With  which  my  glorious  front,  and  word  at  large, 
Triumphs  in  print  at  my  admirers'  charge  ? 
Ears.  Rare  !  how  he  talks  in  verse,  just  as  he 
writes  ! 3 

3  Rare!  how  he  talks  in  verse,  just  as  he  writes.']  From  the  par- 
ticular description  given  us  of  Ghronomastix,  it  appears  that  the 
character  was  personal ;  and  there  is  reason  for  thinking  that 
the  author  intended  was  John  Marston  :  who,  besides  his  dra- 
matic writings,  was  the  author  of  three  books  of  satires,  called 
The  Scourge  of  Villainy.  WHAL. 

Whalley  writes  very  carelessly.  Had  he  ever  looked  into 
Marston,  he  could  not  have  formed  so  strange  a  conjecture. 
The  Scourge  of  Villainy  was  written  nearly  thirty  years  before 
this  Masque  appeared,  to  which,  in  fact,  it  has  not  the  slightest 
reference.  Chronomastix  is  undoubtedly  a  generic  name  for  the 
herd  of  libellists,  which  infested  those  times ;  but  the  lines 
noticed  by  Whalley  bear  a  particular  reference  to  George 
Wither  the  puritan,  the  author  of  Abuses  stript  and  whipt,  and 
other  satirical  poems  on  the  Times :  the  style  and  manner  of 
which  Jonson  has  imitated  with  equal  spirit  and  humour.  The 
allusion  to  his 

u  picture  in  the  front 

With  bays  and  wicked  rhyme  upon't," 

and  which  was  in  great  request  with  "  the  godly,"  was  probably 
not  a  little  grateful  to  the  courtiers. 

In  some  editions  of  Abuses  stript  and  wftipt,  there  is  a  print 
of  a  Satyr  with  a  scourge,  such  as  Chronomastix  enters  with  ;  but 
Wither  had  displayed  his  u  glorious  front  and  word  at  large" 
(nee  habeo,  nee  careo,  nee  euro}  in  the  title-page  of  another  poem 


8  TIME  VINDICATED. 

Chro.    When  have  I   walk'd   the  streets,   but 

happy  he 

That  had  the  finger  first  to  point  at  me, 
Prentice,  or  journeyman  !  The  shop  doth  know  it, 
The  uuletter'd  clerk,  major  and  minor  poet! 
The  sempster  hath  sat  still  as  I  pass'd  by, 
And  dropt  her  needle  !  fish-wives  stay'd  their  cry ! 
The  boy  with  buttons,  and  the  basket-wench, 
To  vent  their  wares  into  my  works  do  trench ! 
A  pudding-wife  that  would  despise  the  times, 
Hath  utter'd  frequent  penn'orths,  through   my 

rhymes, 

And,  with  them,  dived  into  the  chambermaid, 
And  she  unto  her  lady  hath  convey'd 
The  season'd  morsels,  who  hath  sent  me  pensions, 
To  cherish,  and  to  heighten  my  inventions. 
Well,  Fame  shall  know  it  yet,  I  have  my  faction, 
And  friends  about  me,  though  it  please  detraction, 
To  do  me  this  affront.  Come  forth  that  love  me, 
And  now,  or  never,  spight  of  Fame,  approve  me. 

not  long  before  the  appearance  of  this  Masque,  in  which  he 
refers,  with  sufficient  confidence,  to  his  former  works  : 

a  Had  I  been  now  dispos'd  to  satyrize, 

Would  I  have  tamed  my  numbers  in  this  wise? 
No.  I  have  Furies  that  lye  ty'd  in  chaines, 
Bold,  English-mastive-like,  adventrous  straines. 
Who  fcarlesse  dare  on  any  monster  flye 
That  weares  a  body  of  mortality  : 
And  I  had  let  them  loose,  if  I  had  list, 
To  play  agaiiie,  the  sharp -fang'd  Satyrist." 

This  man,  whom  nature  meant  for  better  things,  and  who  did  not 
always  write  doggrel  verses,  once  thought  more  modestly  of 
himself;  but  popularity  gave  him  assurance.  In  the  introduction 
to  his  Atuses  Whipt,  he  tells  his  readers  "  not  to  looke  for 
Spencer's  or  Daniel's  well-composed  numbers,  or  the  deep  con- 
ceits of  the  now  flourishing  Jonson  ;  but  to  say — 'tis  honest  plain 
matter,  and  there's  as  much  as  he  expects." 


TIME  VINDICATED, 


Enter  the  Mutest/or  the  ANTIMASQUE. 

Fame.  How  no\v  !   what's  here  !    Is  hell  broke 
loose  ? 

Eyes.  You'll  see 

That  he  has  favourers,  Fame,  and  great  ones  too  ; 
That  unctuous  Bounty,  is  the  boss  of  Billinsgate.4 

Ears.  Who  feasts  his  muse  with  claret,  wine 
and  oysters 

Nose.  Grows  big  with  satyr. 

Ears.  Goes  as  long  as  an  elephant. 

Eyes.  She  labours,  and  lies  in  of  his  inventions. 

Nose.  Has  a  male  poem  in  her  belly  now, 
Big  as  a  colt 

Ears.  That  kicks  at  Time  already. 

Eyes.  And  is  no  sooner  foal'd,  but  will  neigh 
sulphur. 

Fame.  The  next. 

Ears.  A  quondam  justice,  that  of  late 
Hath  been  discarded  outo'  the  pack  of  the  peace, 
For  some  lewd  levity  he  holds  in  capite ; 
But  constantly  loves  him.    In  days  of  yore, 
He  us'd  to  give  the  charge  out  of  his  poems  ; 
He  carries  him  about  him  in  his  pocket, 
As  Philip's  son  did  Homer,  in  a  casket, 
And  cries,  O  happy  man  !  to  the  wrong  party, 
Meaning  the  poet,  where  he  meant  the  subject. 

Fame.  What  are  this  pair? 

Eyes.  The  ragged  rascals  ? 

Fame.  Yes. 

Eyes.  Mere  rogues  : — you'd  think  them  rogues, 
but  they  are  friends  ; 

*  That  unctuous  Bounty  is  the  boss  of  Billinsgate.]  Boss  is  an 
head  or  reservoir  of  water.  It  frequently  occurs  in  Stow,  who 
also  mentions  that  of  the  text.  "  The  Bosses  of  water  at  Belins- 
gate,  by  Powles  Wharfe,  and  by  St.  Giles  without  Cripplegate, 
wero  made  about  the  year  1423."  Survey  of  London.  This  word 
has  escaped  Mr.  Todd. 


10  TIME  VINDICATED. 

One  is  his  printer  in  disguise,  and  keeps 
His  press  in  a  hollow  tree,5  where  to  conceal  him, 
He  works  by  glow- worm  light,  the  moon's  too  open. 
The  other  zealous  rag  is  the  compositor, 
Who  in  an  angle,  where  the  ants  inhabit, 
(The  emblems  of  his  labours),  will  sit  curl'd 
Whole  days  and  nights,  and  work  his  eyes  out 
for  him. 

Nose.  Strange  arguments  of  love !    there  is  a 

schoolmaster 

Is  turning  all  his  works  too,  into  Latin, 
To  pure  satyric  Latin;  makes  his  boys 
To  learn  him  ;  calls  him  the  Times'  Juvenal ; 
Hangs  all  his  school  with  his  sharp  sentences ; 
And  o'er  the  execution  place  hath  painted 
Time  whipt,  for  terror  to  the  infantry. 

Eyes.  This  man  of  war  i'  the  rear,  he  is  both 

trumpet 
And  champion  to  his  muse. 

Ears.  For  the  whole  city. 

Nose.  Has  him  by  rote,  recites  him  at  the  tables, 
Where  he  doth  govern  ;  swears  him  into  name, 
Upon  his  word,  and  sword,  for  the  sole  youth 
Dares  make  profession  of  poetic  truth, 
Now  militant  amongst  us  :  to  th'  incredulous, 
That  dagger  is  an  article  he  uses, 
To  rivet  his  respect  into  their  pates, 
And  make  them  faithful.    Fame,  you'll  find  you 
have  wrong'd  him. 

Fame.  What  a  confederacy  of  folly's  here? 

5  His  press  in  a  hollow  tree,  &c.]  There  is  very  little  exagge- 
ration in  this  lively  satire;  it  is  sufficient  to  read  the  state- 
papers  of  the  day,  to  be  able  to  appropriate  it  with  sufficient 
accuracy.  Nothing  gate  the  great  officers  of  the  law  such 
trouble,  as  ferreting  out  the  obscure  holes  in  which  the  libels 
which  overflowed  the  country  were  produced.  Almost  every 
scurrilous  writer  had  a  portable  press,  which  was  moved  from 
one  hiding  place  to  another  with  a  secrecy  and  dispatch  truly 
wonderful. 


TIME  VINDICATED.  n 

They  all  dance  but  FAME,  and  make  the  first  ANTI- 
MASQUE,  in  which  they  adore,  and  carry  forth 
CHRONOMASTIX. 

After  which,  the  Cuuious  come  up  again  to  FAME. 

Eyes.  Now,  Fame,  how  like  you  this  ? 

Ears.  This  falls  upon  you 
For  your  neglect. 

Nose.  He  scorns  you,  and  defies  you, 
He  has  got  a  Fame  on's  own,  as  well  as  a  faction. 

Eyes.  And  these  will  deify  him,  to  despite  you. 

Fame.  I  envy  not  the  'A7ro0/w<r»?. 
'Twill  prove  but  deifying  of  a  pompion.' 

Nose.  Well,  what  is  that  the  Time  will  now 
exhibit? 

Eyes.  What  gambols,  what  devices,  what  new 
sports  ? 

Ears.  You  promised  us,  we  should  have  any 
thing. 

Nose.  That  Time  would  give  us  all  we  could 
imagine. 

Fame.  You  might  imagine  so,  I  never  promised  it. 

Eyes.  Pox!  then 'tis  nothing.  I  had  now  a  fancy 
We  might  have  talk'd  o'  the  king. 

Ears.  Or  state. 

Nose.  Or  all  the  world. 

Eyes.  Censured  the  council  ere  they  censure  us. 

Ears.  We  do  it  in  Paul's. 

Nose.  Yes,  and  in  all  the  taverns. 

Fame.  A  comely  license  !    They  that  censure 

those 

They  ought  to  reverence,  meet  they  that  old  curse, 
To  beg  their  bread,  and  feel  eternal  winter ! 
There's  difference  'twixt  liberty  and  license. 

6  'Twill  prove  but  deifying  of  a  pompion.~\   Alluding  to  the  bur. 
lesque  deification  of  Claudius,  by  Seneca. 


12  TIME  VINDICATED. 

Nose.  Why  if  it  be  not  that,  let  it  be  this  then' 
(For  since  you  grant  us  freedom,  we  will  hold  it) 
Let's  have  the  giddy  world  turn'd  the  heels  up- 
ward, 

And  sing  a  rare  black  Sanctus,7  on  his  head, 
Of  all  things  out  of  order. 

Eyes.  No,  the  man 

In  the  moon  dance  a  coranto,  his  bush 
At's  back  a-fire  ;  and  his  dog  piping  Lachrymal. 

Ears.  Or  let's  have  all  the  people  in  an  uproar, 
None  knowing  why,  or  to  what  end  ;  ami  n> 
The  midst  of  all,  start  up  an  old  mad  woman 
Preaching  of  patience. 

Nose.  No,  no,  I'd  have  this. 

Eyes.  What? 

Fame.  Any  thing. 

Nose.  That  could  be  monstrous — 
Enough,  I  mean.  A  Babel  of  wild  humours. 

Ears.  And  all  disputing  of  all  things  they  know 
not. 

Eyes.  And  talking  of  allmen  theyneverheardof. 

7  And  sing  a  rare  black  Sanctus.]  The  black  Sanctus  was  a 
profane  parody  of  some  hymn  in  the  Mass  book;  and  the 
tune  to  which  it  was  set  was  probably  loud  and  discordant,  to 
assist  the  ridicule.  As  a  satire  on  the  monks,  whom  it  lashes 
with  some  kind  of  coarse  humour,  it  appears  to  have  been  very 
popular.  It  may  be  referred  to  the  times  of  Hen.  VIII.  when 
to  criminate  the  ancient  possessors  of  the  monasteries,  was  to 
render  a  most  acceptable  service  to  that  hateful  tyrant,  and  his 
rapacious  court.  Sir  J.  Harrington,  who  printed  it  entire,  calls 
it  "  the  Monks  Hymn  to  Saunte  Satan."  It  occurs  in  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher : 

"  Let's  si  tig  him  a  black  Sanctus^  then  let's  all  howl 

In  our  own  bea&tly  voices."  Mad  Lover. 

And  is  also  introduced  by  Phil.  Holland  in  his  translation  of 
Lify :  Nata  in  vanos  tumultus  gens^  truci  cantu,  c/amoribusque 
variis,  horrendo  cuncta  impleverunt  sono.  Lib.  v.  c.  37.  "  With 
an  h.deous  and  dissonant  kind  of  singing  like  a  black  Sanctus, 
they  filled  all  about  with  a  fearful  and  horrible  noise." 


TIME  VINDICATED.  13 

Ears.  And  all  together  by  the  ears  o'  the  sudden. 
Eyes.  An<l  when  the  matter  is  at  hottest,  then 
All  fall  asleep. 

Fame.  Agree  among  yourselves, 
And  what  it  is  you'd  have,  I'll  answer  you. 
Eyes.  O,  that  we  shall  never  do. 
Ears.  No,  never  agree. 

Nose.  Not  upon  what  ?  Something  that  is  un- 
lawful. 

Ears.  Ay,  or  unreasonable. 
Eyes.  Or,  impossible. 

Nose.  Let  it  be  uncivil  enough,  you  hit  us  right. 
Ears.  And  a  great  noise. 
Eyes.  To  little  or  no  purpose. 
Nose.  And   if  there  be  some  mischief,  'twill 

become  it. 
Eyes.  But  see  there  be  no  cause,  as  you  will 

answer  it. 

Fame.  These  are  mere  monsters. 
Nose.  Ay,  all  the  better. 
Fame.  You  do  abuse  the  time.    These  are  fit 

freedoms 

For  lawless  prentices,on  a  Shrove-tuesday, 
When  they  compel  the  Time  to  serve  their  riot; 
For  drunken  wakes,  and  strutting  bear-baitings, 
That  savour  only  of  their  own  abuses. 

Eyes.  Why,  if  not  those,  then  something  to 

make  sport. 

Ears.  We  only  hunt  for  novelty,  not  truth. 
Fame.  I'll  fit  you,   though  the  Time   faintly 
permit  it. 

The  second  ANTIMASQUE  of  TUMBLERS,  and  JUG- 
LERS,  brought  in  by  the  CAT  AND  FIDDLE,  who 
make  sport  with  the  CURIOUS,  and  drive  them  away. 

Fame.  Why  now  they  are  kindly  used  like  such 
spectators, 


14  TIME  VINDICATED. 

That  know  not  what  they  would  have.  Commonly 
The  Curious  are  ill  natured,  and,  like  flies, 
Seek  Time's  corrupted  parts  to  blow  upon : 
But  may  the  sound  ones  live  with  fame,  and  ho- 
nour, 

Free  from  the  molestation  of  these  insects, 
Who  being  fled,  Fame  now  pursues  her  errand. 

Loud  Music. 

To  which  the  whole  Scene,  opens;  where  SATU  RN  sitting 
with  VENUS  is  discovered  above,  and  certain  VO- 
TARIES coming  forth  below,  which  are  the  CHORUS. 

Fame.  For  you,  great  king,  to  whom  the  Time 

doth  owe 

All  his  respects  and  reverence,  behold 
How  Saturn,  urged  at  request  of  Love, 
Prepares  the  object  to  the  place  to-night. 
Within  yond'  darkness,  Venus  hath  found  out 
That  Hecate,  as  she  is  queen  of  shades, 
Keeps  certain  glories  of  the  time  obscured, 
There  for  herself  alone  to  gaze  upon, 
As  she  did  once  the  fair  Endymion. 
These,  Time  hath  promised  at  Love's  suit  to  free, 
As  being  fitter  to  adorn  the  Age, 
By  you  restored  on  earth,  most  like  his  own ; 
And  fill  this  world  of  beauty  here,  your  court : 
To  which  his  bounty,  see,  how  men  prepare 
To  fit  their  votes  below,  and  thronging  come 
With  longing  passion  to  enjoy  the  effect ! 
Hark  !  it  is  Love  begins  to  Time.  Expect. 

[Music. 
Ven.  Beside,  that  it  is  done  for  Love, 

It  is  a  work,  great  Time,  will  prove 
Thy  honour,  as  men's  hopes  above. 


TIME  VINDICATED.  15 

Sat.         If  Love  be  pleased,  so  am  I, 

For  Time  could  never  yet  deny 

What  Love  did  ask,  if  Love  knew  why. 

Vot.       She  knew,  and  hath  exprest  it  now : 
And  so  doth  every  public  vow 
That  heard  her  why,  and  wails  thy  how. 

Sat.         T*u  shall  not  long  expect ;  with  east 

The  things  come  forth,  are  born  to  please  : 
Look,  have  you  seen  such  lights  as  these? 

The  MASQUERS  are  discovered,  and  that  which 
obscured  them  vanisheth. 

1  Vot.    These,  these  must  sure  some  wonders  be  ! 

Cho.       0,  iv hat  a  glory  'tis  to  see 

Mens  wishes,  Time,  and  Love  agree. 

[A  pause. 

SATURN  and  VENUS  pass  away,  and  the  MASQUERS 
descend. 

Cho.       What  grief,  or  envy  had  it  been, 

That  these,  and  such  had  not  been  seen, 

But  still  obscured  in  shade  ! 
Who  are  the  glories  of  the  Time, 
Of  youth,  and  feature  too,  the  prime, 

And  for  the  light  were  made. 

1  Vot.   Their  very  number,  how  it  takes .' 

2  Vot.   What  harmony  their  presence  makes  / 
1  Vot.       How  they  inflame  the  place  / 

Cho.       Now  they  are  nearer  seen,  and  viewed, 
For  whom  could  love  have  better  sued. 
Or  Time  have  done  the  grace  ? 


16  TIME  VINDICATED. 


Here  to  a  loud  Music,  they  march  into  their  figure, 
and  dance  their  ENTRY,  or  first  DANCE. 

After  which. 

Ven.       The  night  could  not  these  glories  miss, 
Good  Time,,  I  hope,  is  taen  with  this. 
Sat.         If  Time  were  not,  I'm  sure  Love  is. 
llelween  us  it  shall  be  no  strife  : 
For  now  "'tis  Love  gives  Time  his  life. 
Vot.       Let  Time  then  so  with  Love  conspire. 

As  straight  be  sent  into  the  court, 
A  little  Cupid,  armd  withjire, 
Attended  by  a  jocund  Sport , 
To  breed  delight,  and  a  desire 

Of  being  delighted,  in  the  nobler  sort. 
Sat.         The  wish  is  crown  d,  as  soon  as  made. 
Vot.       And  Cupid  conquers,  ere  he  doth  invade. 
His  victories  of  lightest  trouble  prove ; 
For  there  is  never  labour  where  is  Love. 

Then  follows  the  MAIN  DANCE; 

Which  done,  CUPID  with  the  SPORT,  comes  for- 
ward. 

Cup.  [to  the  Masquers.] 

7 'ake  breath  a  while,  young  bloods,  to  bring 
Your  forces  up,  whilst  we  go  sing 
Fresh  charges  to  the  beauties  here. 

Sport.     Or,  if  they  charge  you,  do  not  fear, 

Though  they  be  belter  aimd  than  you; 
It  is  but  standing  the  first  view, 
And  then  they  yield. 

Cup.      Or  quit  the  field. 

Sport.     Nay,  that  they  II  never  do. 


TIME  VINDICATED.  -1,7 

They'll  rather  fall  upon  the  place , 
Than  suffer  such  disgrace. 
You  are  but  men  at  best,  they  say. 
And  they  from  those  ne'er  ran  away. 

[Pause. 

Cup.  [to  the  King.] 

Ton,  sir,  that  are  the  lord  oj  Time, 
Receive  it  not  as  any  crime 
'Gainst  majesty,  that  Love  and  Sport 
To  night  have  enter  d  in  your  court. 

Sport.     tSir,  doubt  him  more  of  some  surprize 
V\)on  yourself;  He  hath  his  eyes. 
You  are  the  noblest  object  here, 
And  'tis  for  you  alone  I  fear : 
For  here  are  ladies,  that  would  give 
A  brave  reward,  to  make  Love  live 
Well  all  his  life,  for  such  a  draught ; 
And  therefore,  look  to  every  shaft : 
The  wag's  a  deacon  in  his  craft. 

[Pause. 

Cup.  [to  the  Lords  ] 

My  lords,  the  honours  of  the  crown, 
Put  off  your  sourness,  do  not  ft  own, 
Bid  cares  depart,  and  business  hence : 
A  little,  for  the  Time,  dispense. 

Sport.     Trust  nothing  that  the  boy  lets  fall, 

My  lords,  he  hath  plots  upon  you  all. 
A  pensioner  unto  your  wives, 
To  keep  you  in  uxorious  gyves, 
And  so  your  sense  to  fascinate, 
To  make  you  quit  all  thought  of  state, 
His  amorous  questions  to  debate. 
But  hear  his  logic,  he  will  prove 
There  is  no  business,  but  to  be  in  love. 

Cup.       The  words  of  Sport,  my  lords,  and  coarse. 
Tour  ladies  yet,  will  not  think  worse 

[Pause. 

VOL.  VIII.  C 


18  TIME  VINDICATED. 

Of  Love  for  this  :  they  shall  command 
MY  bow,,  my  quiver,  and  my  hand. 
Sport.         Whttf,  hete  to  stand 

And  kill  the  flies  ? 
Alas,  thy  service  they  despise. 
One  beauty  here,  hath  in  her  eyes 
More  shafts  than  from  thy  bow  eerflew, 
Or  that  poor  quiver  knew. 

These  dames, 

They  need  not  Love's,  they've  Nature's  flames. 
Cup.       I  see  the  Beauty  that  you  so  report. 
Sport.    Cupid,  you  must  not  point  in  court, 
Where  live  so  many  of  a  sort. 
Of  Harmony  these  learn  d  their  speech, 
The  Graces  did  them  fooling  teach. 
And,  at  the  old  Idalian  brawls, 
They  danced  your  mother  down.  She  calls. 
Cup.  Arm,  arm  them  all. 

Sport.         "Young  bloods  come  on, 

And  charge;  let  every  man  take  one. 
Cup.  And  try  his  fate. 

jSport.         These  are  fair  wars ; 

And  mil  be  carried  without  scars. 
Cup.       A  joining,  but  of  feet,  and  hands y 

Is  all  the  Time,  and  Love  commands. 
Sport.     Or  if  you  do  their  gloves  off~stript 
Or  taste  the  nectar  of  the  lip ; 
See,  so  you  temper  your  desires^ 
For  kisses,  that  ye  suck  not  fires. 

The  REVELS  follow ;  which  ended,  the  Chorus 
appear  again,  and  DIANA  descends  to  HIPPO- 
LITUS,  the  whole  scene  being  changed  into  a 
wood,  out  of  which  he  comes. 

Cho.  The  courtly  strije  is  done,  it  should  appear, 
JBetween  the  j  ouths,  and  beauties  of  the  year : 


TIME  VINDICATED.  19 

We  hope  that  now  these  lights  n  ill  know  their 

sphere, 

And  strive  hereafter  to  shine  ever  here : 
like  brightest  planets,  still  to  move 
In  the  eye  oj  Time,  and  orbs  of  Love. 

Dia.   Hippolitus,  Hippolitus  ! 
Hip.   Diana  ? 
Dia.   She. 

Be  ready  you,  or  Cephalus, 
To  wait  on  me. 
Hip.   We  ever  be. 
Dia.  Your  goddess  hath  been  wrong'd  to-night, 

By  Love's  report  unto  the  Time. 
Hip.    The  injury,  itself  will  right, 

Which  only  Fame  hath  made  a  crime, 

For  Time  is  wise, 

And  hath  his  ears  as  perfect  as  his  eyes. 
Sat.    Who's  that  descends  ?  Diana  ? 
Vot.  Yes. 

Ven.  Belike  her  troop  she  hath  begun  to  miss. 
Sat.    Let's  meet,  and  question  what  her  errand  is. 
Hip.  She  will  prevent  thee,  Saturn,  not  t' excuse 

Herself  unto  thee,  rather  to  complain 
That  thou  and  Venus  both  should  so  abuse 

The  name  of  Dian,  as  to  entertain 
A  thought,  that  she  had  purpose  to  defraud 
The  Time,  of  any  glories  that  were  his : 
To  do  Time  honour  rather,  and  applaud 

His  worth,  hath  been  her  study. 
Dia.       And  it  is. 

I  call'd  these  youths  forth  in  their  blood, 

and  prime, 

Out  of  the  honour  that  I  bore  their  parts, 
To  make  them  fitter  so  to  serve  the  Time 
By  labour,  riding,  and  those  ancient  arts, 
That  first  enabled  men  unto  the  wars, 
And  furnish'd  heaven  with  so  many  stars  t 

Ca 


20  TIME  VINDICATED. 

Hip.    As  Perseus,  Castor,  Pollux,  and  the  rest, 

Who  were  of  hunters  first,  of  men  the  best ; 

Whose  shades  do  yet  remain  within  yond* 
groves, 

Themselves  there  sporting  with  their  nobler 

loves. 

Dia.   And  so  may  these  do,  if  the  Time  give  leave. 
Sat.    Chaste  Dian's  purpose  we  do  now  conceive, 

And  yield  thereto. 
Ven.        And  so  doth  Love. 
Vot.   All  votes  do  in  one  circle  move. 

Grand  Cho.  Turn  hunters  then, 

Again. 

Hunting,  it  is  the  noblest  exercise, 
Makes  men  laborious,  active,  wise, 
Brings  health,  and  doth  the  spirits  delight, 

It  helps  the  hearing,  and  the  sight : 
It  teacheth  arts  tfiat  never  slip 

The  memory,  good  horsemanship, 
Search,  sharpness,  courage,  and  defence, 

And  chaseth  all  ill  habits  thence. 

Turn  hunters  then, 
Again, 

But  not  of  men. 
Follow  his  ample, 
And  just  example, 

That  hales  all  chase  of  malice,  and  of  blood : 
And  studies  only  ways  of  goo d^ 
To  keep  soft  peace  in  breath. 
Man  should  not  hunt  mankind  to  death, 
But  strike  the  enemies  of  man ; 

Kill  vices  if  you  can  : 
They  are  your  wildest  beasts, 
And  when  they  thickest  fall,  you  make  the  gods 
true  feasts. 

Thus  it  ended. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH 


FOR  THE 


RETURN  OF  ALBION. 

Celebrated   in  a  Masque  at  the  Court  on  the 

Twelfth-night,  1624. 
t 

Omnis  et  ad  reducem  jam  lit  at  ara  Deum. 

MART. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH,  &c.]  Charles  (i.  e.  Albion)  returned 
from  his  ill-fated  expedition  to  Spain,  on  the  fifth  of  October,  in 
the  preceding  year  (1623.)  Before  this  Masque  appeared,  the 
Spanish  match  was  completely  broken  off,  and  James,  who  had 
long  set  his  heart  upon  it,  and  for  several  years  honestly  and 
sedulously  laboured  to  effect  it,  wearied  out  at  length  by  the 
interminable  iuggling  of  the  court  of  Spain,  was,  by  this  time, 
recenciled  to  the  disappointment.  Neptune's  Triumph  appears  to 
bare  been  celebrated  with  uncommon  magnificence.  All  hearts 
and  hands  were  in  it ;  and  the  Spanish  influence  then  received 
a  check,  from  which  it  has  not  recovered  to  this  day. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH,  be. 


His  Majesty  being  set,  and  the  loud  music  ceasing. 
All  that  is  discovered  of  a  scene,  are  two  erected 
pillars,  dedicated  to  Neptune,  with  this  inscription 
upon  the  one, 

N  E  P.     RED. 

On  the  other, 
SEC.     J  O  V. 


The  POET  entering  on  the  sf age,  to  disperse  the  argu- 
ment, is  called  to  by  the  MASTER-COOK. 

Cook.  Do  you  hear,  you  creature  of  diligence 
and  business  ?  what  is  the  affair,  that  you  pluck 
for  so,  under  your  cloke  ? 

Poet.  Nothing,  but  what  I  colour  for,  I  assure 
you  ;  and  may  encounter  with,  I  hope,  if  luck 
favour  me,  the  gamesters'  goddess. 

Cook.  You  are  a  votary  of  hers,  it  seems,  by 
your  language.  What  went  you  upon,  may  a  man 
ask  you  ? 

Poet.  Certainties,  indeed,  sir,  and  very  good 
ones  ;  the  representation  of  a  masque  ;  you'll 
see't  anon. 

Cook.  Sir,  this  is  my  room,  and  region  too,  the 
Banquetting-house.  And  in  matter  of  feast,  the 


24  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

solemnity,  nothing  is  to  be  presented  here,  but 
with  my  acquaintance  and  allowance  to  it. 

Poet.  You  are  not  his  majesty's  confectioner, 
are  you  ? 

Cook.  No,  but  one  that  has  a  good  title  to  the 
room,  his  Master-cook.  What  are  you,  sir? 

Poet.  The  most  unprofitable  of  his  servants,  I, 
sir,  the  Poet.  A  kind  of  a  Christmas  ingine:  one 
that  is  used  at  least  once  a  year,  for  a  trifling  in- 
strument of  wit,  or  so. 

Cook.  Were  you  ever  a  cook  ? 

Poet.  A  cook  !  no,  surely. 

Cook.  Then  you  can  be  no  good  poet :  for  a 
good  poet  differs  nothing  at  all  from  a  master- 
cook.  Either's  art  is  the  wisdom  of  the  mind. 

Poet.  As  how,  sir? 

Cook.  Expect.  I  am  by  my  place,  to  know  how- 
to  please  the  palates  of  the  guests ;  so  you  are  to 
know  the  palates  of  the  times;  study  the  several 
tastes,  what  every  nation,  the  Spaniard,  the 
Dutch,  the  French,  the  Walloun,  the  Neapolitan, 
the  Britain,  the  Sicilian,  can  expect  from  you. 

Poet.  That  were  a  heavy  and  hard  task,  to 
satisfy  Expectation,  who  is  so  severe  an  exactress 
of  duties;  ever  a  tyrannous  mistress,  and  most 
times  a  pressing  enemy. 

Cook.  She  is  a  powerful  great  lady,  sir,  at  all 
times,  and  must  be  satisfied  :  so  must  her  sister, 
madam  Curiosity,  who  hath  as  dainty  a  palate  as 
she ;  and  these  will  expect. 

Poet.  But  what  if  they  expect  more  than  they 
understand  ? 

Cook.  That's  all  one,  master  Poet,  you  are 
bound  to  satisfy  them.  For  there  is  a  palate  of 
the  understanding,  as  well  as  of  the  senses.  The 
taste  is  taken  with  good  relishes,  the  sight  with 
fair  objects,  the  hearing  with  delicate  sounds, 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  25 

the1  smelling  with  pure  scents,  the  feeling  with 
soft  and  plump  hodies,  but  the  understanding 
with  all  these  ;  for  all  which  you  must  begin  at 
the  kitchen.  There  the  art  of  Poetry  was  learn'd, 
and  found  out,  or  nowhere  ;  and  the  same  day 
with  the  art  of  Cookery. 

Poet.  I  should  have  given  it  rather  to  the  cel- 
lar, if  my  suffrage  had  beeu  ask'd. 

Cook.  O,  you  are  for  the  oracle  of  the  bottle, 
I  see;  hogshead  Trismegistus;  he  is  your  Pegasus. 
Thence  flows  the  spring  of  your  muses,  from  that 
hoof. 

Seduced  Poet,  I  do  say  to  thee 

A  boiler,  range,  and  dresser  were  the  fountains 
Of  all  the  knowledge  in  the  universe, 
And  that's  the  kitchen.  What !  a  master-cook  ! 
Thou  dost  not  know  the  man,  nor   canst  thou 

know  him, 
Till  thou  hast  serv'd  some  years  in  that   deep 

school, 

That's  both  the  nurse  and  mother  of  the  arts, 
Andheard'st  him  read,  interpret,  and  demonstrate. 
A  master-cook  !  *  why,  he's  the  man  of  men, 
For  a  professor!  he  designs,  he  draws, 
He  paints,  he  carves,  he  builds,  he  fortifies, 
Makes  citadels  of  curious  fowl  and  fish, 
Some  he  dry-ditches,   some  motes   round   with 

broths ; 

Mounts  marrow-bones ;  cuts  fifty-angled  custards ; 
Rears  bulwark  pies;  and,  for  his  outer  works, 
He  raiseth  ramparts  of  immortal  crust; 

1  A  master-cook !  &c.]  Cartwright  has  reduced  this  into  prac. 
tice  in  his  Ordinary,  and  furnished  out  a  military  diuner  with 
great  pleasantry,  at  the  expense  of  Have-at-all,  who  is  desirous 
to  grow  valiant,  as  lawyers  do  learned,  by  eating.  This  speech 
is  also  closely  imitated  by  the  master-cook  in  Fletcher's  tragedy 
of  Rollo  Dnhe  of  Normandy. 


Q6  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

And  teacheth  all  the  tactics  at  one  dinner:3 

What  ranks,  what  files,  to  put  the  dishes  in, 

The  whole  art  military  !  then  he  knows 

The  influence  of  the  stars,  upon  his  meats  ; 

And  all  their  seasons,  tempers,  qualities, 

And  so  to  fit  his  relishes,  and  sauces  ! 

He  has  Nature  in  a  pot,  'bove  all  the  chemists, 

Or  bare-breech  'd  brethren  of  the  Rosy-cross  ! 

He  is  an  architect,  an  inginer, 

A  soldier,  a  physician,  a  philosopher, 

A  general  mathematician  ! 

Poet.  It  is  granted. 

Cook.  And  that  you  may  not  doubt  him  for  a 
Poet— 

*  And  teacheth  all  the  tactics  at  one  dinner  .]  This  seems  to  be 
taken  from  the  poet  Posidippus,  who  in  Athenaeus  compares  a 
good  cook  to  a  good  general  : 


And  Athenion  in  like  manner  (see  Athenaeus,!.  14.  c.  23.)  attri- 
butes to  the  art  of  cookery,  and  kitchen-philosophy,  what  the 
poets  assign  to  the  legislators  of  society,  and  the  first  founders  of 
states  and  commonwealths.  WHAL. 

'1  he  Greek  poet  is  truly  excellent  ;  and  the  apparent  serious- 
ness with  which  his  cook  descants  on  the  importance  of  his  pro- 
fession adds  greatly  to  its  genuine  humour.  The  concluding  lines 
are  very  amusing. 

sis  01 


»a  TO 
Ta  /xaAig-a  ffyvTe»vov7a  Trpoj  TO  ?ijv  x 

We  slay  the  victims, 
"We  pour  the  free  libations,  and  to  us 
The  gods  themselves  lend  a  propitious  ear  ; 
And,  for  our  special  merits,  scatter  blessings 
On  all  the  human  race,  because  from  us 
And  from  our  art,  mankind  was  first  induced 
To  live  the  life  of  reason. 

There  is  no  translating  the  sly  felicity  of  ?>jv  xaXojj,  which  looks, 
at  the  same  time,  to  good  morals,  and  good  eating. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  27 

Poet.  This  fury  shews,  if  there  were  nothing 

else ; 
And  'tis  divine ! 

Cook    Then,  brother  poet. 

Pott.  Brother. 

Cook.  I  have  a  suit. 

Poet.  What  is  it  ? 

Cook.  Your  device. 

Poet.  As  you  came  in  upon  me,  I  was  then 
Offering  the  argument,  and  this  it  is. 

Cook.  Silence ! 

Poet,  [reads.]    The  mighty  Neptune,  mighty  in 

his  styles, 

And  large  command  of  waters,  and  of  isles  ; 
Not  as  the  "  lord  and  sovereign  of  the  seas," 
But  "  chief  in  the  art  of  riding,"  late  did  please, 
To  send  his  Albion  forth,  the  most  his  own, 
Upon  discovery,  to  themselves  best  known, 
Through  Celtiberia ;  and,  to  assist  his  course, 
Gave  him  his  powerful  Manager  of  Horse, 
With  divine  Proteus,3  father  of  disguise, 
To  wait  upon  them  with  his  counsels  wise, 
In  all  extremes.   His  great  commands  being  done, 
And  he  desirous  to  review  his  son, 
He  doth  dispatch  a  floating  isle,  from  hence, 
Unto  the  Hesperian  shores,  to  waft  him  thence. 
Where,  what  the  arts  were,  us'd  to  make  him  stay. 
And  how  the  Syrens  woo'd  him  by  the  way, 
What  monsters  he  encountered  on  the  coast, 
How  near  our  general  joy  was  to  be  lost* 

'  With  divine  Proteus,  &c.]  This,  I  believe,  was  sir  Francis 
Cottington.  He  had  been  secretary  to  sir  Charles  Cornwallis, 
and  was, at  this  time,  private  secretary  to  the  Prince;  he  was  well 
versed  in  political  affairs,  and  particularly  in  those  of  Spain, 
where  he  had  resided  many  years  in  a  public  capacity. 

4  How  near  our  general  joy  was  to  be  lost.]  This  alludes  to  the 
storm  which  took  place  on  the  Spanish  coast,  and  in  which  the 
prince,  together  with  a  number  of  the  Spanish  nobility  who  came 


28  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

Is  not  our  subject  now  ;  though  all  these  make 

The  present  gladness  greater,  for  their  sake. 

But  what  the  triumphs  tire,  the  feast,  the  sport, 

And  proud  solemnities  of  Neptune's  court, 

Now  he  is  safe,  and  Fame's  not  heard  in  vain, 

But  we  behold  our  happy  pledge  again. 

That  with  him,  loyal  Hippius  is  returned,* 

Who  for  it,  under  so  much  envy,  burn'd 

With  his  own  brightness,  till  her  starved  snakes  saw 

What  Neptune  did  impose,  to  him  was  law. 

Cook.  But  why  not  this,  till  now? 

Poet.  //  was  not  time, 

To  mix  this  music  with  the  vulgar's  chime. 

Stay,  till  the  abortive,  and  evtemporal  din 

Of  balladry,  were  understood  a  sin, 

Minerva  cried  ;  that,  what  tumultuous  verse, 

Or  prose  could  make,  or  steal,  they  might  rehearse, 

And  every  songster  hud  sung  out  his  Jit ; 

That  all  the  country,  and  the  city  wit, 

Of  bells  and  bonfires,  and  good  cheer  was  spent, 

And  Neptune's  guard  had  drunk  all  that  they  meant , 

That  all  the  tales  and  stories  now  were  old 

Of  the  sea-monster  Archy*  or  grown  cold: 

to  take  leave  of  him,  was  nearly  wrecked.  The  other  dangers 
which  Charles  is  said  to  have  encountered  are  probably  exag- 
gerated by  the  "  poet." 

*  That  with  him  loyal  Hippius  is  returned.']  By  Hippius  is  meant 
the  duke  of  Buckingham,  master  of  the  horse  to  James  the  1st, 
who  accompanied  the  prince  into  Spain,  to  which  this  speech 
alludes.     WHAL. 

*  Of  the  sea-munstcr  Archy.~\    Archibald  Armstrong,  the  court 
jester,  who  followed  the  prince  into  Spain.  Charles  seems  to  hare 
taken   a  strange  fancy  to  this  buffoon,  who  joined  the  surly 
savageness  of  the  bear  to  the  mischievous  tricks  of  the  monkey. 
Howell,  who  was  at  Madrid  during  the  Prince's  visit,  says,  in 
one  of  his  letters,  '*  Our  cousin  Archy  hath  more  privilege  here, 
than  any,  for  he  often  goes  with  his  fool's  coat  where  the  Infanta 
is  with  her  Meninos  and  ladies  of  honour,  and  keeps  a  blowing 
and  blustering  among  them,  and  Hurts  out  what  he  lists."     In, 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  29 

The  Muses  then  might  venture,  undeterred. 

For  they  love,  then,  to  sing,  when  they  are  heard. 

Cook.  I  like  it  well,  'tis  handsome  ;  and  I  have 
Something  would  fit  this.    How  do  you  present 

them  ? 
In  a  fine  island,  say  you  r 

Poet    Yes,  a  Delos  : 

Such,  as  when  fair  Latona  fell  in  travail, 
Great  Neptune  made  emergent. 

Cook.  I  conceive  you. 
I  would  have  had  your  isle  brought  floating  in, 

now, 
In  a  brave  broth,7  and  of  a  sprightly  green, 

conclusion,  he  gives  a  specimen  of  his  ill-manners,  which  must 
hare  been  offensive  in  the  highest  degree.     Book  I.  Ictt.  18. 
7  In  a  brave  broth 

With  an  Arion  mounted  on  the  back 

Of  a  grown  conger^  but  in  such  a  posture 

As  all  the  world  should  take  him  for  a  dolphin.]     This  is  ha. 
morously  imitated  by  Fletcher  : 

"  For  fish,  I'll  make  a  standing  lake  of  white  broth, 
And  pikes  come  ploughing  up  the  plumbs  before  them, 
Arion  on  a  dolphin^  playing  Lachrymae,"  &c. 

Roilo,  A.  II.  S.  2. 

Mr.  Weber  has  happily  discovered  the  pronomen  of  this  cele. 
fora  tod  musician.  He  was  called,  it  seems,  Bike  Arion,  without 
the  Mr. — "  Bike,"  as  he  aptly  observes,  "  which  signifies  a  hive 
of  bees ,  is  not  in  the  least  applicable,  fur  which  reason  I  must 
leave  it  to  the  reader."  This  is  kind  :  but  Mr.  Weber  is  unjust 
to  the  merits  of  his  own  text.  Does  he  not  know  that  bees 
will  swarm  to  a  brass  kettle?  How  much  rather,  then,  to  the 
harp  of  Arion  !  Hence  the  name.  The  verse  stands  thus  in  his 
precious  edition  (vol.  ii.  p.  55  ) 

"  Ride  like  Bike  Arion  on  a  trout  to  London." 
Former  editors,  whom  Mr.  Weber  treats  with  all  the  contempt 
which     his    superior    attainments    justify    him    in    assuming, 
had  supposed  that  bike  (which  destroys  the  metre)  was  merely 
an  accidental  repetition  of  like,  and  therefore  droptit:    but  as 
this  was  done  without  writing  a  page  or  two  about  it,  Mr. 
Weber  wonders  at  their  presumption,  and  very  judiciously  re 
instates  it  in  the  text. 


30 

Just  to  the  colour  of  the  sea;  and  then, 

Some  twenty  Syrens,  singing  in  the  kettle, 

With  an  Arion  mounted  on  the  back 

Of  a  grown  conger,  but  in  such  a  posture, 

As  all  the  world  should  take  him  for  a  dolphin  : 

O,   'twould  have  made  such  music!  Have  you 

nothing 
But  a  bare  island  ? 

Poet.  Yes,  we  have  a  tree  too, 
Which  we  do  call  the  tree  of  Harmony, 
And  is  the  same  with  what  we  read  the  sun 
Brought  forth  in  the  Indian  Musicana  first, 
And  thus  it  grows  :  The  goodly  bole  being  got* 
To  certain  cubits  height,  from  every  side 
The  boughs  decline,  which  taking  root  afresh, 
Spring  up  new  boles,  and  these  spring  new,   and 

newer, 

Till  the  whole  tree  become  a  porticus, 
Or  arched  arbor,  able  to  receive 
A  numerous  troop,  such  as  our  Albion, 
And  the  companions  of  his  journey  are  : 
And  this  they  sit  in. 

Cook.  Your  prime  Masquers  ? 

Poet.  Yes. 

Cook.  But  where's  your  Antimasque  now,  all 

this  while? 
I  hearken  after  them. 

Poet.  Faith,  we  have  none. 

Cook.  None  ! 

*  The  goodly  bole  being  got^  &c.]   Milton  treads  rather  closely 
upon  the  heels  of  Jonson  here  : 

"  The  fig  tree  that 

In  Malabar  or  Decan  spreads  her  arms 
Branching  so  broad  and  long,  that  in  the  ground 
The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  pillar'd  shade 
High  OYer-arch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between." 

Par.  Lost.  ix.  1100. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  31 

Poet.  None,  I  assure  you,  neither  do  I  think 

them 

A  worthy  part  of  presentation, 
Being1  things  so  heterogene  to  all  device, 
Mere  by-works,  and  at  best  outlandish  nothings. 

Cook.  O,  you  are  all  the  heaven  awry,  sir! 
For  blood  of  poetry,  running  in  your  veins, 
Make  not  yourself  so  ignorautly  simple. 
Because,  sir,  you  shall  see  I  am  a  poet, 
No  less  than  cook,  and  that  I  find  you  want 
A  special  service  here,  an  anti masque, 
I'll  fit  you  with  a  dish  out  of  the  kitchen, 
Such,  as  I  think,  will  take  the  present  palates, 
A  metaphorical  dish  !  and  do  but  mark 
How  a  good  wit  may  jump  with  you.     Are  you 

ready,  child  ? 
(Had  there  been  masque,  or  no  masque,  I  had 

made  it.) 
Child  of  the  boiling-house ! 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy.  Here,  father. 

Cook.  Bring  forth  the  pot.  It  is  an  olla  podrida. 
But  I  have  persons  to  present  the  meats. 

Poet.  Persons  ! 

Cook.  Such  as  do  relish  nothing  but  di  sfato, 
But  in  another  fashion,  than  you  dream  of, 
Know  all  things  the  wrong  way,  talk  of  the  affairs, 
The  clouds,  the  cortines,  and  the  mysteries 
That  are  afoot,  and  from  what  hands  they  have 

them, 

The  master  of  the  elephant,  or  the  camels  : 
What  correspondencies  are  held  ;  the  posts 
That  go,  and  come,  and  knowalmost  their  minutes, 
All  but  their  business :  therein,  they  are  fishes  ; 


32  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH; 

But  have  their  garlic,  as  the  proverb  says,     " 
They  are  our  Quest  of  Enquiry  after  news. 

Poet.  Together  with  their  learned  authors  ? 

Boy.  Yes,  sir. 

And  of  the  epicoene  gender,  hees,  and  shees  : 
Amphibion  Archy  is  the  chief. 

Cook,  Good  boy  ! 

The  child  is  learned  too:  note  but  the  kitchen  ! 
Have  you  put  him  into  the  pot,  for  garlic  ? 

Boy.  One  in  his  coat  shall  stink  as  strong  as  he, 

sir, 
And  his  friend  Giblets  with  him. 

Cook*  They  are  two, 
That  give  a  part  of  the  seasoning. 

Poet.  I  conceive 
The  way  of  your  gallimaufry. 

Cook.  You  will  like  it, 
When  they  come  pouring  out  of  the  pot  together. 

Boy.  O,  if  the  pot  had  been  big  enough ! 

Cook.  What  then,  child  ? 

Boy.  I  had  put  in  the  elephant,  and  one  camel, 
At  least,  for  beef. 

Cook.  But,  whom  have  you  for  partridge? 

Boy.  A  brace  of  dwarfs,   and  delicate  plump 
birds. 

Cook.  And  whom  for  mutton,  and  kid? 

Boy.  A  fine  laced  mutton,9 
Or  two;  and  either  has  her  frisking  husband  : 
That  reads  her  the  Corranto,  every  week. 
Grave  master  Ambler,  news-master  o'  Paul's, 
Supplies  your  capon  ;  and  grown  captain  Buz, 
His  emissary,  under-writes  for  turkey  ; 
A  gentleman  of  the  Forest  presents  pheasant, 

9  AJine  laced  mutton.'}  A  cant  term  for  a  wanton.  Some  of 
the  characters  mentioned  in  this  speech,  the  author  subsequently 
introduced  into  the  Staple  of  News. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  33 

And  a  plump  poulterer's  wife,  in  Grace's  street, 
Plays  hen  with  eggs  in  the  belly,  or  a  coney, 
Choose  which  you  will. 

Cook.  But  where's  the  bacon,  Tom  ? 

Boy.  Hogrel  the  butcher,  and  the  sow  his  wife, 
Are  both  there. 

Cock.  It  is  well  ;  go  dish  them  out. 
Are  they  well  boil'd  ? 

Boy.  Podrida  ! 

Poet.  What's  that,  rotten? 

Cook.  O,  that  they  must  be.  There's  one  main 

ingredient 
We  have  forgot,  the  artichoke. 

Boy.  No,  sir; 

I  have  a  fruiterer,  with  a  cold  red  nose 
Like  a  blue  fig,  performs  it. 

Cook.  The  fruit  looks  so. 

Good  child,  go  pour  them  out,  shew  their  con- 
coction. 
They  must  be  rotten  boil'd;  the  broth's  the  best 

on't, 

And  that's  the  dance  :  the  stage  here  is  the  charger. 
And,  brother  poet,  though  the  serious  part 
Be  yours,  yet,  envy  not  the  cook  his  art. 

Poet.  Not  I :  nam  lusus  ipse  Triumphus  amat. 

Here  the  ANTIMASQUE  is  danced  by  the  persons 
described,  coming  out  of  the  pot. 

Poet.  Well,  now,  expect  the  scene  itself;    it 
opens ! 


The  island  of  DELOS  is  discovered,  the  MASQUIRS 
sitting  in  their  several  sieges.  The  heavens  opening, 
and  APOLLO,  with  MERCURY,  some  of  the  Muses, 
and  the  goddess  HARMONY,  make  the  music :  the 

TOL.  VIII.  D 


34  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

while  the  island  moves  forward,  PROTEUS  sitting 
below,  and  APOLLO  sings. 

SONG. 

Apol.    Look  forth,  the  shepherd  of  the  seas, 
And  of  the  ports  that  keep'st  the  keys, 

And  to  your  Neptune  tell, 
His  Albion,  prince  of  all  his  isles, 
For  whom  the  sea  and  land  so  smiles, 

Is  home  returned  well. 

Grand  Cho.  And  be  it  thought  no  common  cause, 
That,  to  it,  so  much  wonder  draws, 

And  all  the  heavens  consent, 
With  Harmony,  to  tune  their  notest 
In  answer  to  the  public  votes, 

That  for  it  up  were  sent. 

It  was  no  envious  step-dame's  rage, 
Or  tyrant's  malice  of  the  age, 

That  did  employ  him  forth  : 
But  such  a  wisdom  that  would  prove 
By  sending  him  their  hearts,  and  love, 

That  else  might  fear  his  worth. 

By  this  time,  the  island  hath  joined  itself  with 
the  shore:  and  PROTEUS,  PORTUNUS, andSARON 
come  forth  ;  and  go  up  singing  to  the  state, 
while  the  Masquers  take  time  to  land. 

SONG. 

Pro.    Ay,  now  the  pomp  of  Neptune's  triumph  shines  ! 
And  all  the  glories  of  his  great  designs 
Are  read,  rejected,  in  his  sons  return  ! 

Por.    How  all  the  eyes,  the  looks,  the  hearts  here  burn 
At  his  arrival ! 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  35 

Sar.  These  are  the  true  fires 

Are  made  of  joys  / 

Pro.  Of  longing  / 

Por.  Of  desires ! 

Sar.  Of  hopes! 
Pro.  Of  fears  ! 

Por.  No  intermitted  blocks. 

Sar.  But  pure  affections,  and  from  odorous  stocks  ! 

Cho.  'Tis  incense  all,  thatjlames, 

And  these  materials  scarce  have  names  ! 

^ro.    My  king  looks  higher,  as  he  scorn 'd  the  wars 
Of  winds,  and  with  his  trident  touched  the  stars; 
There  is  no  wrinkle  in  his  brow,  or  frown, 
But  as  his  cares  he  would  in  nectar  drown. 
And  all  the  silver-footed  nymphs  were  drest 
To  wait  upon  him,  to  the  Ocean's  feast. 

Por.  Or,  here  in  rows  upon  the  banks  were  set, 
And  had  their  several  hairs  made  into  net 
To  catch  t lie  youths  in,  as  they  come  on  shore. 

Sar.    How,  Galatea  sighing  !  O}  no  morct 
Banish  your  fears. 

Por.  Andt  Doris,  dry  your  tears. 

ALBION  is  come. 

Pro.  And  Haliclyon  too,* 

That  kept  his  side,  as  he  was  charged  to  do, 
With  wonder. 

Sar.    And  the  Syrens  have  him  not. 

Por.    Though  they  no  practice,  nor  no  arts  forgot, 

Pro.    That  might  have  won  him,  or  by  charm,  or  song. 

Pro.    Or  laying  forth  their  tresses  all  along 
Upon  the  glassy  waves. 

Por.  Then  diving. 

•  And  Haliclyon  too.]    The  duke  of  Buckingham,  lord  high 
admiral. 

D  8 


36  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

Pro.  Then, 

Up  with  their  heads,  as  they  were  mad  of  men. 

Sar.    And  there  the  highest-going  billows  crown, 
Until  some  lusty  sea-god  pulled  them  down. 

Cho.  See,  he  is  here  ! 

Pro.    Great  master  (>f  the  main, 

Receive  thy  dear,  and  precious  pawn  again. 

Cho.  Saron,  Portunus,  Proteus  bring  him  thus, 
Safe,  as  thy  subjects'  wishes  gave  him  us : 
And  of' thy  glorious  triumph  let  it  be 
No  less  a  part,  that  thou  their  loves  dost  see, 
Than  that  his  sacred  head's  returned  to  thee. 

This  sung,  the  island  goes  back,  whilst  the  Upper 
Chorus  takes  it  from  them,  and  the  Masquers 
prepare  for  their  figure. 

Cho.  Spring  all  the  Graces  of  the  age, 

And  all  the  Loves  of  time  : 
Bring  all  the  pleasures  of  the  stage, 

And  relishes  of  rhyme : 
Add  all  the  softnesses  of  courts, 

The  looks,  the  laughters,  and  the  sports ; 
And  mingle  all  their  sweets  and  salts, 

That  none  may  say,  the  Triumph  halts. 

Here  the  MASQUERS  dance  their  Entry. 

Which  done,  the  Jirst  prospective  of  a  maritime 
palace,  or  the  house  of  OCEAN  us,  is  discovered, 
with  loud  music. 

And  the  other  above  is  no  more  seen. 

Poet.  Behold  the  palace  of  Oceanus  ! 
Hail,  reverend  structure  !  boast  no  more  to  us 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  37 

Thy  being  able  all  the  gods  to  feast ; 

We've  seen  enough  ;  our  Albion  was  thy  guest, 

Then  follows  the  Main  Dance. 

After  which,  the  second  prospect  of  the  sea  is  shown, 
to  the  former  music. 

Poet.  Now  turn  and  view  the  wonders  of  the 

deep, 

Where  Proteus'herds,  andNeptune's  orcsdo  keep, 
Where  all  is  plough 'd,  yet  still  the  pasture's  green, 
The  ways  are  found,  and  yet  no  paths  are  seen. 

There  PROTEUS,  PORTUNUS,  SARON,  go  up  to  the 
Ladies  with  this  SONG. 

Pro.  Come,  noble  nymphs,  and  do  not  hide 
The  joys  for  which  you  so  provide. 

Sar.    If  not  to  mingle  with  the  men, 

What  do  you  here  ?  go  home  agen. 

Por.  Your  dressings  do  confess, 

By  what  we  see  so  curious  parts 
Of  Pallas'  and  Arachne's  arts, 
That  you  could  mean  no  less. 

Pro.  Why  do  you  wear  the  silk-worm's  toils, 
Or  glory  in  the  shell- fatt  spoils, 
Or  strive  to  shew  the  grains  of  ore, 
That  you  have  gathered  on  the  shore, 

Whereof  to  make  a  stock 
To  graft  the  greener  emerald  on, 
Or  any  better-watered  stone  ? 

Sar.  Or  ruby  of  the.  rock  f 

Pro.  Why  do  you  smell  of  amber-grise, 

Of  which  was  formed  Neptune's  niece, 
The  queen  of  Love  ;  unless  you  can, 
Like  sea-born  Venus,  love  a  man  ? 


38  NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH. 

Sar.  Try,  put  yourselves  unto't. 

Cho.  Your  looks,  your  smiles,  and  thoughts  that  meet , 
Ambrosian  hands,  and  silver  feet, 
Do  promise  you  will  do*t. 

The  REVELS  follow. 

Which  ended,  the  fleet  is  discovered,  while  the  three 
cornets  play. 

Poet.  'Tis  time,  your  eyes  should  be  refresh'd 

at  length 

With  something  new,  a  part  of  Neptune's  strength, 
See  yond'  his  fleet,  ready  to  go  or  come, 
Or  fetch  the  riches  of  the  ocean  home, 
So  to  secure  him,  both  in  peace  and  wars, 
Till  not  one  ship  alone,  but  all  be  stars. 

[_A  shout  within. 

Re-enter  the  COOK,  followed  by  a  number  of  Sailors. 

Cook.  I've  another  service  for  you,  brother 
Poet  ;  a  dish  of  pickled  sailors,  fine  salt  sea-boys, 
shall  relish  like  anchovies,  or  caveare,  to  draw 
down  a  cup  of  nectar,  in  the  skirts  of  a  night. 

Sail.  Come  away,  boys,  the  town  is  ours;  hey 
for  Neptune,  and  our  young  master! 

Poet.  He  knows  the  compass,  and  the  card, 
While  Castor  sits  on  the  main  yard, 
And  Pollux  too,  to  help  your  hales  ; 
And  bright  Leucothoe  fills  your  sails  : 
Arion  sings,  the  dolphins  swim, 
And  all  the  way,  to  gaze  on  him. 

The  ANTIMASQUE  of  Sailors. 

Then  the  last  Song  to  the  whole  music.  Jive  lutes, 
three  cornets,  and  ten  voices. 


NEPTUNE'S  TRIUMPH.  39 

SONG. 

Pro.    Although  we  wish  the  triumph  still  might  last 
For  such  a  prince,  and  his  discovery  past ; 
Yet  now,  great  loj^d  of  waters,  and  of  isles, 
Give  Proteus  leave  to  turn  unto  his  wiles. 

Por.    And,  whilst  young  Albion  doth  thy  labours  easer 
Dispatch  Portunus  to  thy  ports. 

Sar.  And  Saron  to  thy  seas : 

To  meet  old  Nereus,  with  hisjifty  girls, 
From  aged  Indus  laden  home  with  pearls, 
And  Orient  gums,  to  burn  unto  thy  name. 

Grand  Cho.  And  may  thy  subjects'  hearts  be  all  on 

Jlame, 

Whilst  thou  dost  keep  the  earth  injirm  estate, 
And  'mongst  the  winds,  dost  suffer  no  debate, 
But  both  at  sea,  and  land,  our  powers  increase, 
With  health  and  all  the  golden  gifts  of  peace. 

The  last  Dance. 
With  which  the  whole  ended. 


PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY: 

OR  THE 

SHEPHERD'S    HOLYDAY. 

AS   IT  WAS    PRESENTED   AT   COURT   BEFORE 
KING  JAMES,  1625. 

The  Inventors,  INIGO  JONES;  BEN  JONSON. 


PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY,  &c.]  This  Masque,  which  was  probably 
presented  on  New  Year's  day, was  the  last  that  James  witnessed, 
as  he  died  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  March  following  It  only 
appears  in  the  fol.  1641,  and  was  printed  after  Jonson's  death. 


PAN'S   ANNIVERSARY. 


The  SCENE  Arcadia. 

The  Court  being  seated,  enter  three  NYMPHS, 
strewing  several  sorts  of  flowers,  jbllowed  by  an 
old  SHEPHERD,  with  a  censer  and  perfumes. 

1  Nym.  Thus,  thus  begin  the  yearly  rites 

Are  due  to  Pan  on  these  bright  nights ; 
His  morn  now  riseth,  and  invites 
To  sports,  to  dances,  and  delights : 
All  envious  and  profane,  away, 
This  is  the  shepherd's  holyday. 

2  Nym.  Strew,  strew  the  glad  and  smiling  ground 

With  every  flower,  yet  not  confound 
The  primrose   drop,    the   spring's    own 

spouse, 

Bright  day's-eyes,  and  the  lips  of  cows, 
The  garden-star,  the  queen  of  May, 
The  rose,  to  crown  the  holyday. 

3  Nym,  Drop,  drop  your  violets,  change  your  hues, 

Now  red,  now  pale,  as  lovers  use, 
And  in  your  death  go  out  as  well, 
As  when  you  lived  unto  the  smell : 

That  from  your  odour  all  may  say, 
This  is  the  shepherd's  holyday. 


44  PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY. 


f  Well  done,  my  pretty  ones,  rain  roses  still, 
Until  the  last  be  dropt  :  then  hence  ;  and  fill 
Your  fragrant  prickles1  for  a  second  shower. 
Bring  corn-flag,  tulips,  and  Adonis'  flower, 
Fair  ox-eye,  goldy-locks,  and  columbine, 
Pinks,  goulands,  king-cups,  and  sweet  sops-in- 

wine, 

Blue  hare-bells,  paries,  pansies,  calaminth, 
Flower-gentle,  and  the  fair-hair'd  hyacinth, 
Bring  rich  carnations,  flower-de-luces,  lilies, 
The  checqued,  and  purple-ringed  daffodillies, 
Bright  crown-imperial,  kingspear,  holyhocks, 
Sweet  Venus-navel,  and  soft  lady-smocks, 
Bring  too  some  branches  forth  of  Daphne's  hair, 
And  gladdest  myrtle  for  these  posts  to  wear, 
With  spikenard  weav'd,  and  marjoram  between, 
And  starr'd   with  yellow-golds,   and   meadows- 

queen, 

That  when  the  altar,  as  it  ought,  is  drest, 
More  odour  come  not  from  the  phoenix'  nest; 
The  breath  thereof  Panchaia  may  envy', 
The  colours  China,8  and  the  light  the  sky. 

Loud  Music. 

The  Scene  opens>  and  the  MASQUERS  are  discovered 
sitting  about  the  Fountain  of  Light,  with  the 
Musicians,  attired  like  the  Priests  of\Pan,  stand' 
ing  in  the  work  beneath  them. 

Enter  a  Fencer,  flourishing. 
Fen.  Room  for  an  old  trophy  of  time  ;  a  son  of 

1  Your  fragrant  prickles.]  So  the  gardeners  still  call  the  light 
open  wicker  baskets,  in  which  flowers  are  brought  to  market. 

*  The  colours  China,']  This  is  the  earliest  allusion  that  I  hare 
found  to  the  beautiful  colouring  of  this  ware;  which  now 
began  to  make  its  appearance  in  the  shops,  or,  as  they  were 
called,  China-houses  of  the  capital. 


PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY.  45 

the  sword,  a  servant  of  Mars,  the  minion  of  the 
muses,  and  a  master  of  fence  !  One  that  hath 
shown  his  quarters,  and  played  his  prizes  at  all 
the  games  of  Greece  in  his  time ;  as  fencing, 
wrestling,  leaping,  dancing,  whatnot?  and  hath 
now  usher'd  hither,  by  the  light  of  my  long 
sword,  certain  bold  boys  of  Boeotia,  who  are  come 
to  challenge  the  Arcadians  at  their  own  sports, 
call  them  forth  on  their  own  holyday,  and 
dance  them  down  on  their  own  green-swarth. 

Shep.  'Tis  boldly  attempted,  and  must  be  a 
Boeotian  enterprise,  by  the  face  of  it,  from  all  the 
parts  of  Greece  else,  especially  at  this  time, 
when  the  best,  and  bravest  spirits  of  Arcadia, 
called  together  by  the  excellent  Crcas,  are 
yonder  sitting  about  the  Fountain  of  Light,  in 
consultation  of  what  honours  they  may  do  to  the 
great  Pan,  by  increase  of  anniversary  rites,  fitted 
to  the  music  of  his  peace. 

Fen.  Peace  to  thy  Pan,  and  mum  to  thy  music, 
swain :  there  is  a  tinker  of  Thebes  a  coming, 
called  Epam,  with  his  kettle,  will  make  all 
Arcadia  ring  of  him  :  What  are  your  sports  for 
the  purpose  ?  say,  if  singing,  you  shall  be  sung 
down ;  if  dancing,  danced  down.  There  is  no 
more  to  be  done  with  you,  but  know  what ; 
which  it  is ;  and  you  are  in  smoke,  gone,  va- 
poured, vanished,  blown,  and,  as  a  man  would 
say,  in  a  word  of  two  syllables,  nothing. 

Shep.  This  is  short,  though  not  so  sweet. 
Surely  the  better  part  of  the  solemnity  here  will 
be  dancing. 

Fen.  Enough :  they  shall  be  met  with  instantly 
in  their  own  sphere,  the  sphere  of  their  own 
activity,  a  dance.  But  by  whom,  expect :  no 
Cynastbeian,  nor  Satyrs;  but,  as  I  said,  boys  of 
Boeotia,  things  of  Thebes,  (the  town  is  ours, 


46  PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

shepherd)  mad  merry  Greeks,  lads  of  life,  that 
have  no  gall  in  us,  but  all  air  and  sweetness.  A 
tooth-drawer  is  our  foreman,  that  if  there  be  but 
a  bitter  tooth  in  the  company,  it  may  be  called 
out  at  a  twitch  :  he  doth  command  any  man's 
teeth  out  of  his  head  upon  the  point  of  his 
poniard  ;  or  tickles  them  forth  with  his  riding 
rod:  he  draws  teeth  a  horse-back  in  full  speed, 
yet  he  will  dance  a  foot,  he  hath  given  his  word : 
he  is  yeoman  of  the  mouth  to  the  whole  bro- 
therhood, and  is  charged  to  see  their  gums  be 
clean,  and  their  breath  sweet,  at  a  minute's 
warning.  Then  comes  my  learned  Theban,  the 
tinker,  I  told  you  of,1  with  his  kettle  drum,  be- 
fore and  after,  a  master  of  music,  and  a  man  of 
metal,  he  beats  the  march  to  the  tune  of  Tickle- 
foot,  Pam,  Pam,  Pam,  brave  Epam  with  a  Non- 
das.  That's  the  strain. 

Shep.  A  high  one  ! 

Fen.  Which  is  followed  by  the  trace,  and  tract 
of  an  excellent  juggler,  that  can  juggle  with 
every  joint  about  him,  from  head  to  heel.  He 
can  do  tricks  with  his  toes,  wind  silk,  and  thread 
pearl  with  them,  as  nimble  a  fine  fellow  of  his 

*  Then  conies  my  learned  Therein,  the  tinker,  I  told  you  of.]  In 
Lear,  the  poor  old  king  says, 

"  I'll  talk  a  word  with  this  same  learned  Theban." 
On  which  Steevens  observes,  C(  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  Masque  of 
Pan's  Anniversary,  has  introduced  a  tinker,  whom  he  calls  a 
"learned  Theban,  perhaps  in  ridicule  of  this  passage."  The  ridi- 
cule (if  ridicule  there  be)  must  be  in  the  word  learned,  for 
(though  Steevens  was  ignorant  of  it)  the  tinker  actually  was  a 
Theban  :  as  he  was  also  a  master  of  music,  the  epithet  does  not 
seem  to  be  very  much  out  of  its  place.  But,  "  perhaps," 
Jonson  laid  the  scene  of  this  grave  Antimasque  in  Greece,  that 
he  might  have  an  opportunity  of"  ridi«uling  Shakspeare;'  and 
this  I  take  to  be  the  case,  as  Thebes  is  not  particularly  cele- 
brated for  the  musical  talents  of  its  tinkers.  The  commen- 
tators should  consider  this  well. 


PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY.  47 

feet,  as  his  hands  :  for  there  is  a  nohle  corn- 
cutter,  his  companion,  hath  so  pared  and  finified 

them Indeed,  he  hath  taken  it  into  his  care, 

to  reform  the  feet  of  all,  and  fit  all  their  footing 
to  a  form  !  only  one  splay  foot  in  the  company, 
and  he  is  a  bellows-mender,  allowed,  who  hath 
the  looking  to  all  of  their  lungs  by  patent,  and 
by  his  place  is  to  set  that  leg  afore  still,  and  with 
his  puffs,  keeps  them  in  breath,  during  pleasure: 
a  tinder-box-man,  to  strike  new  fire  into  them 
at  every  turn,  and  where  he  spies  any  brave 
spark  that  is  in  danger  to  go  out,  ply  him  with 
a  match  presently. 

Shep.  A  most  politic  provision  ! 

Fen  Nay,  we  have  made  our  provisions  be- 
yond example,  I  hope.  For  to  these,  there  is 
annexed  a  clock-keeper,  a  grave  person,  as  Time 
himself,  who  is  to  see  that  they  all  keep  time  to  a 
nick,4  and  move  every  elbow  in  order,  every 
knee  in  compass.  He  is  to  wind  them  up,  and 
draw  them  down,  as  he  sees  cause  :  then  is  there 
a  subtle  shrewd  bearded  sir,  that  hath  been  a 
politician,  but  is  now  a  maker  of  mouse-traps,  a 
great  inginer  yet :  and  he  is  to  catch  the  ladies 
favours  in  the  dance,  with  certain  cringes  he  is 
to  make  ;  and  to  bait  their  benevolence.  Nor 
can  we  doubt  of  the  success,  for  we  have  a  pro- 
phet amongst  us  of  that  peremptory  pate,  a 
tailor  or  master-fashioner,  that  hath  found  it 
out  in  a  painted  cloth,  or  some  old  hanging,  (for 
those  are  his  library,)  that  we  must  conquer  in 
such  a  time,  and  such  a  half  time  ;  therefore  bids 
us  go  on  cross-legg'd,  or  however  thread  the 
needles  of  our  own  happiness,  go  through  stitch 
with  all,  unwind  the  clew  of  our  cares  ;  he  hath 

4  To  a  nick.]  i.  e.  what  Shakspeare  calls  u  ajar  o'  the  clock." 


48  PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

taken  measure  of  our  minds,  and  will  fit  our  for- 
tune to  our  footing.  And  to  better  assure  us, 
at  his  own  charge,  brings  his  philosopher  with 
him,  a  great  clerk,  who,  they  say,  can  write,  and 
it  is  shrewdly  suspected  but  he  can  read  too. 
And  he  is  to  take  the  whole  dances  from  the  foot 
by  brachygraphy,  and  so  make  a  memorial,  if  not 
a  map  of  the  business.  Come  forth,  lads,  and  do 
your  own  turns. 

The  BOEOTIANS  enter  for  the  ANTIMASQUE,  which 
is  Danced, 

After  which, 

Fen.  How  like  you  this,  shepherd  r  was  not 
this  gear  gotten  on  a  holyday  r 

Shep.  Faith,  your  folly  may  deserve  pardon, 
because  it  hath  delighted  :  but  beware  of  pre- 
suming, or  how  you  offer  comparison  with  per- 
sons so  near  deities  :  Behold  where  they  are  that 
have  now  forgiven  you,  whom  should  you  pro- 
voke again  with  the  like,  they  will  justly  punish 
that  with  anger,  which  they  now  dismiss  with 
contempt,  Away  !  [They  retire* 

To  the  Masquers. 

And  come,    you   prime  Arcadians    forth,    that 
taught 

By  Pan  the  rites  of  true  society, 
From  his  loud  music  all  your  manners  wrought, 

And  made  your  commonwealth  a  harmony, 
Commending  so  to  all  posterity 

Your  innocence  from  that  fair  fount  of  light, 
As  still  you  sit  without  the  injury 

Of  any  rudeness,  folly  can,  or  spite: 


PAN'S  ANNIVERARY.  49 

Dance  from  the  top  of  the  Lyccean  mountain, 
Down  to  this  valley,  and  with  nearer  eye 

Enjoy,  what  long  in  that  illumin'd  fountain 
You  did  far  off,  but  yet  with  wonder,  spy. 

HYMN    I. 

1  Nym.  Of  Pan  we  sing,  the  best  of  singers,  Pan, 

That  taught  us  swains  how  first  to  tune 

our  lays, 

And  on  the  pipe  more  airs  than  Phoebus  can. 
Cho.  Hear,  Oyou  groves,  and  hills  resound  his 

praise. 

2  Nym.  Of  Pan  we  sing,  the  best  of  leaders.  Pan, 

That  leads  the  Naiads  and  the  Dryads 

forth  ; 

And  to  their  dances  more  than  Hermes  can. 
Cho.  Hear*,  O  you  groves,  and  hills  resound  his 

worth. 

3  Nym.  Of  Pan  we  sing,  the  best  of  hunters,  Pan, 

That  drives  the  hart  to  seek  unused  ways, 
And  in  the  chase  more  than  Sylvanus  can. 
Cho  Hear,  0  you  groves,  and  hills  resound  his 

praise. 

2  Nym.  Of  Pan  we  sing,  the  best  of  shepherds,  Pan, 
That  keeps  our  flocks  a?td  us,  and  both  leads 

forth, 

To  better  pastures  than  great  Pales  can. 
Cho.  Hear,  0 you  groves,  and  hills  resound  his 

worth. 

And  while  his  powers  and  praises  thus  we  sing, 
The  valleys  let  rebound,  and  all  the  rivers  ring. 

The  MASQUERS  descend,  and  dance  their  Entry. 

VOL.  VIII.  E 


50  PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY. 


HYMN    II. 

Pan  is  our  All,  by  him  we  breathe,  we  live, 
We  move,  we  are ;  'tis  he  our  lambs  doth  rear, 

Our  flocks  doth  bless,  and  from  the  store  doth  give 
The  warm  and  finer  fleeces  that  we  wear. 
He  keeps  away  all  heats  and  colds, 
Drives  all  diseases  from  our  folds  ; 
Makes  every  where  the  spring  to  dwell, 
The  ewes  to  feed,  their  udders  swell; 
But  if  he  frown,  the  sheep,  alas  ! 
The  shepherds  wither,  and  the  grass. 

Cho.    Strive,  strive  to  please  him  then,  by  still  in- 
creasing thus 
The  rites  are  due  to  him,  who  doth  all  right  for  us. 

The  MAIN  DANCE. 


HYMN   III. 

If  yet,  if  yet, 

Parts  orgies  you  will  further  Jit, 
See  where  the  silver-footed  fays  do  sit, 
The  nymphs  of  wood  and  water  ; 
Each  tree's  and  fountain's  daughter! 
Go  take  them  forth,  it  will  be  good 
To  see  them  wave  it  like  a  wood, 
And  others  wind  it  like  a  flood  ; 
In  springs, 
And  rings, 
Till  the  applause  it  brings, 

Wakes  Echo  from  her  seat, 
The  closes  to  repeat. 
Ech.     The  closes  to  repeat. 


PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY.  51 

Echo  the  truest  oracle  on  ground, 

Though  nothing  but  a  sound. 
Ech.  Though  nothing  but  a  sound. 

Beloved  of  Pan  the  valleys  queen. 
Ech.  The  valleys  queen. 

And  often  heard,  though  never  seen. 
Ech.  Though  never  seen. 

Here  the  REVELS. 
After  which  re-enter  the  Fencer. 

Fen.  Room,  room,  there  ;  where  are  you,  shep- 
herd ?  I  am  come  again,  with  my  second  part  of 
my  bold  bloods,  the  brave  gamesters  ;  who  as- 
sure you  by  me,  that  they  perceive  no  such 
wonder  in  all  is  done  here,  but  that  they  dare 
adventure  another  trial.  They  look  for  some 
sheepish  devices  here  in  Arcadia,  not  these,  and 
therefore  a  hall !  a  hall !  they  demand. 

Shep.  Nay,  then  they  are  past  pity,  let  them 
come,  and  not  expect  the  anger  or  a  deity  to 
pursue  them,  but  meet  them.  They  have  their 
punishment  with  their  fact :  they  shall  be  sheep. 

Fen.  O  spare  me,  by  the  law  of  nations,  I  am 
but  their  ambassador. 

Shep.  You  speak  in  time,  sir. 

The  THEBANS  enter  for  the  2  ANTI  MASQUE,  which 

danced, 

Shep.  Now  let  them  return  with  their  solid 
heads,  and  carry  their  stupidity  into  Bceotia, 
whence  they  brought  it,  with  an  emblem  of 
themselves,  and  their  country.  This  is  too  pure 
an  air  for  so  gross  brains.  [They  retire. 

£* 


52  PAN'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

To  the  Nymphs. 

End  you  the  rites,  and  so  be  eas'd 

Of  these,  and  then  great  Pan  is  pleas'd. 

HYMN    IV, 

Great  Pan,  the  father  of  our  peace  and  pleasure, 

Who  giv'st  us  all  this  leisure, 
Hear  what  thy  hallow" d  troop  of  herdsmen  pray 

For  this  their  holyday, 
And  how  their  vows  to  thee  they  in  Lycceum  pay. 

Cho.  So  may  our  ewes  receive  the  mounting  ranis, 
And  we  bring  thee  the  earliest  of  our  lambs : 
So  may  the  first  of  all  our  fells  be  thine, 
And  both  the  beestning  of  our  goats  and  kine  ; 
As  thou  our  folds  dost  still  secure, 
And  keep*  st  our  fountains  sweet  and  pure  ; 
Driest  hence  the  wolf,  the  tod*  the  brock, 
Or  other  vermin  from  thejlock. 
That  we,  preserved  by  thee,  and  thou  observd  by  us, 
May  both  live  safe  in  shade  of  thy  lov'd  Meenalus. 

Shep.  Now  each  return  unto  his  charge, 

And  though  to-day  you've  liv'd  at  large, 
And  well  your  flocks  have  fed  their  fill, 
Yet  do  not  trust  your  hirelings  still. 
See  yond'  they  go,  and  timely  do 
The  office  you  have  put  them  to  ; 
But  if  you  often  give  this  leave, 
Your  sheep  and  you  they  will  deceive. 

Thus  it  ended. 
8  The  tod,]  i.  e.  the  fox.    WHAL. 


THE 


MASQUE  OF  OWLS, 


AT 


KENELWORTH. 

Presented  by  the  Ghost  of  captain  Cox,  mounted 
on  his  Hobby-horse,  1626. 


THE  MASQUE  of  Owi»s,  &c.]  From  the  second  folio.  Thii 
trifle  is  not  a  Masque^  nor  could  it  have  been  so  termed  by  the 
author  :  it  is,  in  fact,  a  mere  monologue,  a  Lecture  on  Heads  ; 
which,  such  as  it  is,  probably  gave  the  6rst  hint  to  G.  A.  Ste- 
vens,  for  his  amusing  exhibition,  of  that  name. 

Of  captain  Cox  I  know  no  more  than  Jonson  tells.  Queen 
Elizabeth  had  been  entertained  at  Kenelworth  by  the  "  great 
earl  of  Leicester,"  in  1575.  To  make  her  time  pass  as  agreeably 
as  possible,  the  bears  were  brought  in,  and  baited  with  great 
applause  !  There  was  also  a  burlesque  representation  of  a  battle, 
from  some  old  romance,  in  which  captain  Cox,  who  appears 
to  have  been  some  well-known  humourist,  valiantly  bestirred 
himself.  A  description  of  this  part  of  the  Entertainment  was 
written  and  published  at  the  time,  in  a  "  Letter  from  a  freend 
Officer  attendant  in  the  court,  unto  his  freend  a  citizen  and 
merchaunt  of  London."  To  this  letter,  which  is  written  in  a 
most  uncouth  style  by  a  pedantic  coxcomb  of  the  name  of  Lane, 
ham,  under  an  affectation  of  humour,  Jonson  perpetually  alludes. 


THE 


MASQUE    OF   OWLS. 


Enter  Captain  Cox,  on  his  Hobby-horse. 

Room  !  room  !  for  my  horse  will  wince, 

If  he  come  within  so  many  yards  of  a  prince; 

And  though  he  have  not  on  his  wings, 

He  will  do  strange  things. 

He  is  the  Pegasus  that  uses 

To  wait  on  Warwick  Muses ; 

And  on  gaudy-days  he  paces 

Before  the  Coventry  Graces ; 

For  to  tell  you  true,  and  in  rhyme, 

He  was  foal'd  in  queen  Elizabeth's  time, 

When  the  great  earl  of  Lester 

In  this  castle  did  feast  her. 


1  The  captain  enters  on,  or  rather  in,  the  paste-board  hobby- 
horse used  by  the  morris-dancers  of  the  county,  whom  Jonson 
calls  the  Warwickshire  Muses,  and  capers  round  the  circle  to 
make  room,  according  to  the  usual  practice.  This  little  j'eu- 
d'esprit  formed  perhaps  an  episode  in  some  amusement  of  a  more 
extensive  nature,  for  it  could  scarcely  occupy  ten  minutes.  It 
is  not  easy  to  say  before  whom  it  was  played.  The  first  couplet 
speaks  of  the  Prince,  and,  from  a  subsequent  passage,  it  would 
seem  to  be  the  prince  of  Wales  :  but  there  was  none  at  this 
period  :  add  too,  that  the  earl  of  Leicester  (if  he  was  the  pos- 
sessor of  Kenelworth  castle,)  died  in  1626  ;  so  that  the  date  is 
probably  too  late,  by  a  year. 


56  THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS. 

Now,  I  am  not  so  stupid 
To  think,  you  think  me  a  Cupid, 
Or  a  Mercury  that  sit  him  ; 
Though  these  cocks  here  would  fit  him: 
But  a  spirit  very  civil, 
Neither  poet's  god,  nor  devil, 
An  old  Kenelworth  fox, 
The  ghost  of  captain  Cox, 
For  which  I  am  the  bolder, 
To  wear  a  cock  on  each  shoulder. 

This  captain  Cox,  by  St.  Mary, 
Was  at  Bullen  with  king  Ha-ry ; 
And  (if  some  do  not  vary) 
Had  a  goodly  library,2 

*  His  library  is  given  at  great  length,  by  the  author  of  the 
"  Letter."  It  is  curious  and  amusing.  ''  And  fyrst  Captain  Cox, 
an  od  man  I  promiz  yoo  :  by  profession  a  mason,  and  that  right 
skilfull ;  very  cunning  in  fens,  (fencing)  and  hardy  as  Gavin; 
for  his  ton-sword  hangs  at  hiz  tablz  eend ;  great  oversight  hath 
he  in  matters  of  storie  :  For  az  for  King  Arthurz  book,  Huan 
of  Burdiaus,  the  foour  sons  of  Aymon,  Bevys  of  Hampton,  The 
Sqtiyre  of  lo  degree,  The  Knight  of  Courtesy,  and  the  Lady  Fa- 
guell,  Frederik  of  Gene,  Syr  Eglamoour,  Syr  Tryamoour,  Syr  Lam" 
well,  Syr  Isenbras,  Syr  Gaayn,  Olycer  of  the  Castle,  Lucres  and 
Curialus,  Virgil's  Life,  the  Castle  of  Ladiez>  the  Wido  Edyth,  the 
King  and  the  Tanner,  Frier  Rons,  Howleglas,  Gargantua,  Robin 
Hood,  Adam  Eel,  Clim  of  the  dough,  and  William  of  Cloudsley, 
the  Churl  and  the  Burd,  the  Seven  Wise  Musters,  the  Wife  lapt 
in  a  Morels  skin,  the  Sak  full  of  Nuez,  the  Seargeaunt  that 
became  a  Fryar,  Skogan,  Collyn  Clout,  the  Fryar  and  the  Boy, 
Elynor  Humming,  and  the  Nutbrooun  Maid,  with  many  moe 
than  I  rehearz  here  :  I  beleeve  hee  have  them  all  at  hiz  fingers 
cndz. — 

Then  in  Philosophy,  both  morale  and  naturale,  I  think  he  be 
az  naturally  overseen :  beside  Poetric  and  Astronomie,  and  oother 
hid  Scienctz,  as  I  may  gesse  by  the  omberzt  of  his  books: 
•whereof  part,  az  I  remember,  The  Shepherdz  Kalender,  The  Ship 
of  Foalz,  Danielz  Dreamz,  the  Bookc  of  Fortune,  Stuns  puer  ad 
Mensam,  The  hy  uey  to  the  Spitl-house,  Julian  of  Bradford's 
Testament,  The  Castle  of  Lore,  the  Booget  of  Demaunds,  the  Hun. 
dred  merry  Talez,  the  Booke  of  Riddels,  the  Seaven  Sororz  of 


THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS.  A7 

By  which  he  was  discerned 

To  be  one  of  the  learned, 

To  entertain  the  queen  here, 

When  last  she  was  seen  here. 

And  for  the  town  of  Coventry 

To  act  to  her  sovereignty. 

But  so  his  lot  fell  out, 

That  serving  then  a-foot, 

And  being  a  little  man ; 

When  the  skirmish  began 

'Twixt  the  Saxon  and  the  Dane, 

(From  thence  the  story  was  ta'en) 

He  was  not  so  well  seen 

As  he  would  have  been  o'  the  queen. 


Wemen,  the  Prooud  Wives  Pater-Noster,  the  Chapman  of  a  Pent- 
•worth  of  Wit:  Beside  his  Auncient  Playz,  Yooth  and  Charitce, 
Hikskorner,  Nugizee,  Impatient  Poverty,  and  herewith  Doctor 
Boards  Breviary  of  Health.  What  shoold  I  rehearz  heer,  what  a 
Bunch  of  Ballets  and  Songs,  all  auncient ;  az  Broom  broom  on 
Hil,  So  wo  is  me  began,  truly  lo,  Over  a  Whinny  Meg,  Hey  ding  a 
ding,  Bony  las~s  upon  a  green,  My  bony  on  gave  me  a  bek,  By  a  bank 
as  I  lay :  and  a  hundred  more  he  hath  fair  wrapt  up  in  parch, 
ment,  and  bound  with  a  whip-cord.  And  as  for  Almanaks  of 
Antiquitee  (a  point  for  Ephemeridees),  1  ween  he  can  sheaw  from 
Jasper  Laet  of  Antwerp  unto  Nostradam  of  Frauns,  and  thens 
untoo  oour  John  Securiz  of  Salsbury.  To  stay  ye  no  longer  heer 
in,  I  dare  say  he  hath  az  fair  a  Library  for  theez  sciencez,  and 
as  many  goodly  monuments  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  and  at 
afternoonz  can  talk  az  much  without  book  az  ony  inholder  be- 
twixt Brainjord  and  Bagshot,  what  degree  soever  he  be." 

The  letter-writer  evidently  meant  to  raise  a  smile  at  the  Cap- 
tain's expense  ;  but  there  is  no  occasion  for  it.  The  list  shews 
him  to  have  been  a  diligent  and  successful  collector  of  the  do- 
mestic literature  of  his  country,  and  so  far  he  is  entitled  to  praise. 
Some  of  the  fugitive  pieces  here  mentioned  are  now  lost ;  one 
of  them  however,  the  Hundred  Merry  Tales,  which  has  long  set 
the  Shakspeare  commentators  by  the  ears,  has  partly  been  re- 
covered within  these  few  days,  pasted  into  the  binding  of  an  old 
book.  It  is  now  in  Mr.  Bindley 's  possession,  and  proves  to  be  a 
collection  of  jests,  of  no  great  novelty  or  value. 


58  THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS. 

Though  his  sword  were  twice  so  long 
As  any  man's  else  in  the  throng ; 
And  for  his  sake,  the  play 
Was  call'd  for  the  second  day. 
But  he  made  a  vow 
(And  he  performs  it  now) 
That  were  he  alive  or  dead, 
Hereafter  it  should  never  be  said 
But  captain  Cox  would  serve  on  horse 
Por  better  or  for  worse, 
If  any  prince  came  hither, 
And  his  horse  should  have  a  feather ; 
Nay  such  a  prince  it  might  be 
Perhaps  he  should  have  three. 

Now,  sir,  in  your  approach, 
The  rumbling  of  your  coach 
Awaking  me,  his  ghost, 
I  come  to  play  your  host ; 
And  feast  your  eyes  and  ears, 
Neither  with  dogs  nor  bears,1 
Though  that  have  been  a  fit    . 
Of  our  main-shire  wit, 
In  times  heretofore, 
But  now,  we  have  got  a  little  more. 

These  then  that  we  present 
With  a  most  loyal  intent, 
And,  as  the  author  saith, 
No  ill  meaning  to  the  catholic  faith, 
Are  not  so  much  beasts,  as  fowls, 
But  a  very  nest  of  owls, 
And  natural,  so  thrive  I, 
I  found  them  in  the  ivy, 

3  Neither  with  dogs  nor  bears.]  This  alludes  to  the  following 
passage  in  the  Letter.  "  On  the  syxth  day  of  her  Majestyes 
cumming,  a  great  sort  of  bandogs  whear  thear  tyed  in  the  utter 
cooart,  and  t/iyrteen  bears  in  the  inner,"  &c.  See  Massinger? 
vol.  i.  p.  44. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS.  59 

A  thing,  that  though  I  blunder'd  at, 
It  may  in  time  be  wonder'd  at, 
If  the  place  but  affords 
Any  store  of  lucky  birds, 
As  I  make  them  to  flush, 
Each  owl  out  of  his  bush. 

Now,  these  owls,  some  say,  were  men, 
And  they  may  be  so  again, 
If  once  they  endure  the  light 
Of  your  highness'  sight : 
For  bankrupts,  we  have  known 
Rise  to  more  than  their  own, 
With  a  little-little  savour 
Of  the  prince's  favour ; 
But  as  you  like  their  tricks, 
I'll  spring  them,  they  are  but  six. 

HEY,  OWL  FIRST  !  * 
This  bird  is  London-bred, 
As  you  may  see  by  his  horn'd  head. 
And  had  like  to  have  been  ta'en 
At  his  shop  in  Ivy-lane, 
Where  he  sold  by  the  penny 
Tobacco  as  good  as  any  ; 
But  whether  it  did  provoke 
His  conscience,  he  sold  smoke; 
Or  some  other  toy  he  took, 
Toxvards  his  calling  to  look  : 
He  fled  by  moon-shine  thence; 
And  broke  for  sixteen  pence. 

HEY,  OWL  SECOND! 
This  too,  the  more  is  the  pity, 
Is  of  the  breed  of  the  same  city  ; 

*  Hey,  Owljirst  /"}  Here  the  captain  probably  produced,  from 
beneath  the  fool-cl*  th  of  the  hobby-horse,  a  block  ridiculously 
dressed  or  painted  to  correspond  with  the  description. 


60  THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS. 

A  true  owl  of  London 

That  gives  out  he  is  undone, 

Being  a  cheesemonger, 

By  trusting  two  of  the  younger 

Captains,  for  the  hunger 

Of  their  half-starv'd  number  ; 

Whom  since  they  have  shipt  away  : 

And  left  him  God  to  pay,5 

With  those  ears  for  a  badge 

Of  their  dealing  with  his  Madge. 

HEY,  OWL  THIRD  1 
A  pure  native  bird  6 
This,  and  though  his  hue 
Be  not  Coventry  blue, 
Yet  is  he  undone 
By  the  thread  he  has  spun  ; 
For  since  the  wise  town 
Has  let  the  sports  down 
Of  may-games  and  morris, 
For  which  he  right  sorry  is ; 
Where  their  maids  and  their  makes/ 
At  dancings  and  wakes, 

s  God  to  pay5]  A  cant  term  for  a  hopeless  debt,  nothing.  See 
Epig.  xii. 

6  A  pure  native  bird.}  i.  e.  a  puritan  of  Coventry,  whose  zeal 
in  putting  down  may-poles  and  hobby-horses  had  injured  the 
manufactory  of  blue  thread  (the  chief  staple  of  the  town,)  of 
which  a  great  consumption  was  made  in  ornamenting  napkins, 
scarfs,  &c.     u  I  have  heard,"  an  old  writer,  W.  Stafford,  says, 
"  that  the  chief  trade  of  Coventry,  was  heretofore  in  making 
blew  thredy  and  then  the  towne  was  riche  ever  upon  that  trade 
in  maner  onely,  and  now  our  thredde  comes  all  from  beyond  sea : 
•wherefore  that  trade  of  Coventry  is  decaied,  and  thereby  the 
towne  likewise."     This  appeared  long  before  Owl  the  third  was 
hatched  ;    so  that  the  wise  town  must  have  suffered  from  more 
causes  than  the  loss  of  its  rural  sports. 

7  Where   their  maids,  and  their    makes.]    i.  e.  mates.     So 
Chaucer : 

t(  God  shelde  soche  a  lordes  wife  to  take 
Another  man  to  husbonde,  or  to  make.''    WHAL. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS.  61 

Had  their  napkins  and  posies, 
And  the  wipers  for  their  noses, 
And  their  smocks  all-be-wrought 
With  his  thread  which  they  bought: 
It  now  lies  on  his  hands, 
And  having  neither  wit  nor  lands, 
Is  ready  to  hang  or  choke  him, 
In  a  skein  of  that  that  broke  him. 

HEY,  OWL  FOURTH  ! 
Was  once  a  bankrupt  of  worth ; 
And  having  run  a  shifting-race, 
At  last  by  money,  and  grace, 
Got  him  a  Serjeant's  place, 
And  to  be  one  of  chace. 
A  full  fortnight  was  not  spent, 
But  out  comes  the  parliament, 
Takes  away  the  use  of  his  mace, 
And  left  him  in  a  worse  than  his  first  case. 

HEY,  OWL  FIFTH  ! 
But  here  was  a  defeat, 
Never  any  so  great, 
Of  a  Don,  a  Spanish  reader, 
Who  had  thought  to  have  been  the  leader, 
Had  the  match  gone  on, 
Of  our  ladies  one  by  one, 
And  triumph'd  our  whole  nation, 
In  his  rodomant  fashion  : 
But  now  since  the  breach, 
He  has  not  a  scholar  to  teach. 

HEY,  OWL  SIXTH  ! 
The  bird  bringer-up  is  a  knight, 
But  a  passionate  wight, 
Who,  since  the  act  against  swearing, 
(The  tale's  worth  your  hearing) 


5' 


62  THE  MASQUE  OF  OWLS. 

In  this  short  time's  growth 
Hath  at  twelve-pence  an  oath, 
For  that,  I  take  it,  is  the  rate, 
Sworn  himself  out  of  his  estate. 


THE  THIRD  OWL  VARIED. 
A  crop-ear'd  scrivener,  this, 
Who  when  he  heard  but  the  whis- 
per of  monies  to  come  down, 
Fright  got  him  out  of  town 
With  all  the  bills  and  bands 
Of  other  men's  in  his  hands, 
And  cried,  who  will,  drive  the  trade, 
Since  such  a  law  they  had  made  : 
It  was  not  he  that  broke, 
Two  i'  the  hundred  spoke. 
Nor  car'd  he  for  the  curse, 
He  could  not  hear  much  worse, 
He  had  his  ears  in  his  purse. 


THE 

FORTUNATE    ISLES, 

AND  THEIR 

UNION. 

Celebrated  in  a  Masque  designed  for  the  Court, 
on  the  Twelfth-night,  1626. 

Hie  chorea,  cantusque  vigent. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.]  From  the  second  folio.  Charles  (now 
king)  seems  to  have  been  so  much  pleased  with  the  main  Masque 
of  Neptune's  Triumph,  presented  two  years  before,  as  to  call  for 
it  again,  with  another  introduction,  by  way  of  Antimasque.  This 
was  the  poet's  first  exhibition  before  his  new  sovereign,  and  it 
did  not  discredit  him ;  for  there  is  a  considerable  degree  of 
humour,  as  well  as  satire,  in  the  part  of  Johphiel ;  the  latter  of 
which  must  have  been  fully  felt  and  enjoyed  at  a  period  when 
men  were  hourly  burying  white  wands  in  the  ground,  to  catch 
fairies;  and  muttering  prayers  in  woods,  to  render  sylphs  and 
salamanders  risible ! 

Evil  days  were  now  come  upon  Jonson :  some  months  before 
this  Masque  was  written,  he  had  been  struck  with  the  palsy, 
from  which  he  never  recovered  :  his  old  complaint  the  dropsy, 
too,  increased  about  the  same  time  ;  and,  as  he  says  himself, 
jixed  his  muse  to  the  bed  and  boards^  as  she  had  never  been.  Though 
no  symptoms  of  decay  be  apparent  in  the  present  Entertainment,  , 
yet  it  is  necessary  to  mention  these  circumstances ;  as  the  poet's 
enemies,  while  they  watch  for  the  opportunity  of  triumphing  in 
the  abatement  of  his  powers,  anxiously  keep  his  maladies  out 
of  sight. 


THE 


FORTUNATE   ISLES. 


His  Majesty  being  set, 

Enter,  running,  J  OH  PHI  EL,  an  airy  spirit,  and  (ac- 
cording to  the  Magi)  the  intelligence  of  Jupiter's 
sphere  :  attired  in  light  silks  of  several  colours, 
with  wings  of  the.  same,  a  bright  yellow  hair,  a 
chaplet  oj'jlowers,  blue  silk  stockings,  and  pumps, 
and  gloves,  with  a  silver  fan  in  his  hand. 

Johp.  Like  a  lightning  from  the  sky, 

Or  an  arrow  shot  by  Love, 
Or  a  bird  of  his  let  fly ; 
Be't  a  sparrow,  or  a  dove  : 

'  Johphiel,  an  airy  spirit,  and  (according  to  the  Magi)  tht 
Intelligence  of  Jupiter's  sphere.]  Jonson  is  so  accurate  in  all  his 
positions  (however  unimportant  they  may  appear  in  themselves) 
that  it  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  he  had  authority  for  the 
rank  of  Johphiel.  I  will  not  question  the  assertion  of  the 
"  Magi ;"  but  Agrippa  (also  a  wise-man)  affirms  that  "  Jo. 
phiel  is  one  of  the  presiding  angels  in  the  Intelligible  World, 
and  that  he  reigns  in  the  sphere  of  thi-  zodiac."  This  seems  a 
pretty  wide  command !  The  name  of  the  spirit  of  the  "  sphere 
of  Jupiter,  is  Zadkit  1."  Occ.  I' hit.  B.  2.  c.  xiii. 

Nothing  in  Jonson  is  done  at  random.  Whatever  was  the 
subject  of  his  verse,  he  came  to  it  with  a  mind  fully  furnished, 
and  what  appears,  at  first  sight,  the  mere  sportiveness  of 
invention,  will  be  found,  upon  falling  into  the  track  of  his 

VOL.  VIII.  F 


66  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

With  that  winged  haste,  come  I, 
Loosed  from  the  sphere  of  Jove, 
To  wish  good-night 
To  vour  delight. 

V 

Enter  ME  HE  FOOL,  a  melancholic  student ',  in  bare 
and  worn  clothes,  shrowded  under  an  obscure  cfake, 
and  the  eves  of  an  old  hat. 

Mere,  [fetching  a  deep  sigh.]  Oh,  ho  ! 

Johp.  In  Saturn's  name,  the  father  of  my  lord, 
What  over-charged  piece  of  melancholy 
Is  this,  breaks  in  between  my  wishes  thus, 
With  bombing  sighs  ? 

Mere.  No  !  no  intelligence  ! 
Not  yet  !  and  all  my  vows  now  nine  days  old  ! 
Blindness  of  fate!  puppies  had  seen  by  this  time  ; 
But  I  see  nothing  that  I  should,  or  would  see  ! 
What  mean  the  brethren  of  the  Rosy-cross, 
So  to  desert  their  votary  ? 

Johp.  O  !  'tis  one 
Hath  vow'd  himself  unto  that  airy  order, 

studies,  (which  is  seldem  my  lot,)  to  be  the  result  of  laborious 
and  excursive  reading.  In  the  Alchemist,  for  example,  the  di- 
rections given  to  Abel,  for  insuring  the  prosperity  of  his  shop, 

"  — — On  the  east  side  of  your  shop,  aloft, 
Write  Mathlai,  Tarmiel,  and  Baraborat ; 
Upon  the  north  part,RaeI,  Velel,  Thiel,"  Vol.  iv.  p.  41. 

have  probably  been  regarded  as  a  mere  play  of  fancy ;  but 
they  appear  to  be  derived  from  the  very  depths  of  magical 
science.  "  Angeli  secundt  cceli  regnantes  die  Mercurii,  quos  ad- 
vocari  oportet  a  quatuor  mundi  partibus: 

Ad  Orient  em : 
Mathlai,  Tarmiel,  Baraborat. 

Ad  Septentrioncm : 
Thiel,  Rael,  Vdd,  &c. 

Elem.  Magica  Petri  de  Albana. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  67 

And  now  is  gaping  for  the  fly  they  promised  him. 
I'll  mix  a  little  with  him  for  my  sport. 

[Steps  aside. 

Mere.  Have  I  both  in  my  lodging  and  my  diet, 
My  clothes,  and  every  other  solemn  charge, 
Observed  them,  made  the  naked  boards  my  bed, 
A  faggot  for  my  pillow,  hungred  sore ! 

Johp.  And  thirsted  after  them  ! 

Mere.  To  look  gaunt,  and  lean  ! 

Johp.  Which  will  not  be. 

Mere.  Who's  that  ? — Yes,  and  outwatch'd, 
Yea,  and  outwalked  any  ghost  alive 
In  solitary  circle,  worn  my  boots, 
Knees,  arms,  and  elbows  out ! 

Johp.  Ran  on  the  score  ! 

Mere.  That  have  I — who  suggests  that? — and 

for  more 

Than  I  will  speak  of,  to  abate  this  flesh, 
And  have  not  gain'd  the  sight — 

Johp.  Nay,  scarce  the  sense. 

Mere.  Voice,  thou  art  right — of  any  thing 

but  a  cold 
Wind  in  my  stomach. 

Johp.  And  a  kind  of  whimsie — 

Mere.  Here  in  my  head,  that  puts  me  to  the 

staggers, 
Whether  there  be  that  brotherhood,  or  no. 

Johp.  Believe,  frail  man,  they  be ;    and  thou 
shalt  see. 

Mere.  What  shall  I  see  ? 

Johp.  Me. 

Mere.  Thee  !  where  ? 

Johp.  [comes  forward.']  Here,  if  you 
Be  master  Merefool. 

Mere.  Sir,  our  name  is  Merry  fool, 
But  by  contraction  Merefool. 

Johp,  Then  are  you 

FS 


68  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

The  wight  1  seek  ;  and,  sir,  my  name  is  Johphiel, 
Intelligence  to  the  sphere  of  Jupiter, 
An  airy  jocular  spirit,  employ'd  to  you 
From  father  Outis. 

Mere.  Outis  !  who  is  he  ?  * 

Johp.  Know  ye  not  Outis  ?    then  you  know 

nobody  :— 

The  good  old  hermit,  that  was  said  to  dwell 
Here  in  the  forest  without  trees,  that  built 
The  castle  in  the  air,  where  all  the  brethren 
Rhodostaurotic  live.  It  flies  with  wings, 
And  runs  on  wheels  ;  where  Julian  de  Campis1 
Holds  out  the  brandish'd  blade. 

4  Outis !  -who  is  he  ?]  Outis  is  Greek  for  no-body  ;  here  is 
an  allusion  to  the  trick  Ulysses  put  on  Polyphemus  when  h« 
had  shut  him  in  his  care,  and  asked  him  what  his  name  was, 
which  Ulysses  said  was  Outis,  WHAL. 

3  Where  Julian  de  Campis 

Holds  out  the  brandish'd  blade.']  For  my  knowledge  of  this 
person,  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  and  activity  of  my  friend, 
F.  Cohen,  who  rummaged  him  out  from  a  world  of  forgotten 
lumber  in  the  old  German  language. 

"  Send  Briejf  oder  Bericht  an  alle  welche  von  der  Newen  Bru~ 
den>chafft  des  Ordens  vom  Rozen  Crcutz  gennant^  etwas  gesehen  oder 
von  andern  per  niodum  discursus  der  sachen  beschajfenheit  vernom- 
men. 

"  Es  sind  vicl  die  im  schranken  laujfen,  ttlichc  aber  gewinnen 
nur  das  kleinot,  darumb  ermahne  ic/j, 

Julianus  de  Campis, 

OGDCRFE, 

dass  diejenigen  welche  von  einer  glucklichen  direction  und  ge~ 
wunschtes  impression  guberniret  warden,  sich  nicht  durch  ihrer  selbst 
eigenen  diffidens  oder  uppigheit  unartigesjudiciren  isendig  lassen. 

"  Milita  bonam  militiam,  servans  jidem,  et  accipies  coronam 
glorice. 

"  Gedruckt  im  Jahr  1615." 

u  A  Letter  Missive,  or  account  addressed  to  all  those  who 
hare  [as  yet]  read  any  thing  concerning  the  New  Fraternity, 
entitled  the  order  of  the  Rosy  Cross,  or  who  hare  become 
acquainted  with  the  matter  by  the  verbal  relations  of  others. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  69 

Mere.  Is't  possible 
They  think  on  me  ? 

Johp.  Rise,  be  not  lost  in  wonder, 
But  hear  me  :  and  be  faithful.  All  the  brethren 
Have  heard  your  vows,  salute  you,  and  expect  you, 
By  me,  this  next  return.  But  the  good  father 
Has  been  content  to  die  for  you. 

"  Many  enter  the  cabinet,  but  few  acquire  the  treasure 
Therefore  I, 

Julianus  de  Campis, 

OGDCRFE, 

•warn  all  who  wish  to  be  guided  by  a  happy  direction  and  de- 
sirable impression,  not  to  suffer  themselves  to  be  misled  by  their 
own  mistrust,  or  by  the  loose  judgment  of  forward  people. 
"  Printed  in  the  year  1615." 

It  is  probable  that  this  Julian  de  Campis,  (an  assumed  name) 
was  among  the  earliest  writers  on  this  fantastic  subject,  and 
that  Jonson  derived  some  information  from  his  Letter  Missive. 
Mr.  Cohen,  however,  assures  me  that  there  is  nothing  in  it 
respecting  "  the  brandished  blade." 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  the  origin  of  the  Rosicrucians 
should  not  have  been  discovered.  Neither  Paracelsus  nor 
Agrippa,  (daring  dreamers  as  both  were,)  has  any  approaches 
to  this  singular  sect,  which,  as  far  as  can  be  discovered,  did  not 
spring  to  light  till  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It  seems 
not  unreasonable  to  conjecture  that  the  folly  had  birth  in  one 
of  those  hot-beds,  so  prolific  of 


-all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 


"  Gorgons  and  hydras,  and  chimaeras  dire," 

a  German  lodge  of  Free  Masons  :  thus  much,  at  least,  is  cer- 
tain, that  they  pretend  to  the  brandished  blade,  which  is  even 
now  one  of  their  hieroglyphics. 

A  curious  disquisition,  I  will  not  say  a  profitable  one,  might 
be  written  on  this  subject,  on  which  nothing  satisfactory  has 
hitherto  appeared.  The  Count  de  Gabalis  wisely  broke  off  just 
in  time  to  hide  his  utter  ignorance  of  it ;  indeed,  he  only  re- 
fines upon  the  rude  visions  of  Paracelius ;  and  Gabriel  Naude, 
who  wrote  expressly  on  the  Rosicrucians,  is  loose  and  decla- 
matory, and  has  little  to  the  purpose.  He  notices,  however,  a 
work  entitled  "  Speculum  Sophisticum  Rhodostauroticum,"  which 
our  poet  had  perhaps  seen. — But  I  forget — satque  superque. 


70  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

Mere.  For  me  ? 

Johp.  For  you.    Last  New-year's-day,  which 

some  give  out, 

Because  it  was  his  birth -day,  and  began 
The  year  of  jubilee,  he  would  rest  upon  it, 
Being  his  hundred  five  and  twentieth  year  : 
But  the  truth  is,  having  observ'd  your  genesis, 
He  would  not  live,  because  he  might  leave  all 
He  had  to  you. 

Mere.  What  had  he  ? 

Johp.  Had  !  an  office, 
Two,  three,  or  four. 

Mere.  Where  ? 

Johp.  In  the  upper  region  ; 
And  that  you'll  find.     The  farm   of  the  great 

customs, 

Through  all  the  ports  of  the  air's  intelligences; 
Then  constable  of  the  castle  Rosy -cross: 
Which  you  must  be,  and  keeper  of  the  keys 
Of  the  whole  Kabal,  with  the  seals  ;  you  shall  be 
Principal  secretary  to  the  stars; 
Know  all  the  signatures  and  combinations, 
The  divine  rods,  and  consecrated  roots : 
Whatnot?  VVouldyou  turntreesup  like  the  wind, 
To  shew  your  strength?    march  over  heads  of 

armies, 

;Or  points  of  pikes,  to  shew  your  lightness?  force 
All  doors  of  arts,  with  the  petard  of  your  wit  ? 
Read  at  one  view  all  books  ?  speak  all  the  lan- 
guages 

Of  several  creatures  ?  master  all  the  learnings 
Were,  are,  or  shall  be?  or,  to  shew  your  wealth, 
.Open  all  treasures,  hid  by  nature,  ,from 
The,  rock  of  diamond,  to  the  mine  of  sea-coal? 
Sir,  you  shall  do  it. 

Mere.  But  how? 

Johp.  Why,  by  his  skill, 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  71 

Of  which  he  has  left  you  the  inheritance, 

Here  in  a  pot ;  this  little  gallipot 

Of  tincture,  high  rose  tincture.    There's  your 

order, 
You  will  have  your  collar  sent  you,  ere't  be  long. 

Mere.  I  look'd,  sir,  for  ahalter,  I  was  desperate. 

Johp.  Reach  forth  your  hand. 

Mere.  O,  sir,  a  broken  sleeve 
Keeps  the  arm  back,  as  'tis  in  the  proverb. 

Johp.   Nay, 

For  that  I  do  commend  you  ;  you  must  be  poor 
With  all  your  wealth,  and  learning.    When  you 

have  made 

Your  glasses,  gardens  in  the  depth  of  winter, 
Where  you  will  walk  invisible  to  mankind, 
Talk  with  all  birds  and  beasts  in  their  own  lan- 
guage, 

When  you  have  penetrated  hills  like  air, 
Dived  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  like  lead, 
And  risse  again  like  cork,  walk'd  in  the  fire, 
An  'twere  a  salamander,  pass'd  through  all 
The  winding  orbs,  like  an  Intelligence, 
Up  to  the  empyreum,  when  you  have  made 
The  world  your  gallery,  can  dispatch  a  business 
In  some  three  minutes,  with  the  antipodes, 
And  in  five  more,  negotiate  the  globe  over; 
You  must  be  poor  still. 

Mere.  By  my  place  I  know  it. 

Johp.  Where  would  you  wish  to  be  now,  or 

what  to  see, 

Without  the  Fortunate  Purse  to  bear  your  charges, 
Or  Wishing  Hat  ?  I  will  but  touch  your  temples, 
The  corners  of  your  eyes,  and  tinct  the  tip, 
The  very  tip  o*  your  nose,  with  this  colly^ium. 
And  you  shall  see  in  the  air  all  the  ideas, 
Spirits,  and  atoms,  flies,  that  buz  about 


72  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

This  way,  and  that  way,  and  are  rather  admirable, 
Than  any  way  intelligible. 

Mere.  O,  come,  tinct  me, 

Tinct  me ;  1  long  ;  save  this  great  belly,  I  long ! 
But  shall  I  only  see  ? 

Johp.  See,  and  command 

As  they  were  all  your   varlets,  or  your   foot- 
boys  : 

But  first  you  must  declare,  (your  Greatness  must, 
For  that  is  now  your  style,)  what  you  would  see, 
Or  whom. 

Mere.  Is  that  my  style?  my  Greatness,  then, 
Would  see  king  Zoroastres. 

Johp.  Why,  you  shall ; 

Or  any  one  beside.  Think  whom  you  please  ; 
Your  thousand,  your  ten  thousand,  to  a  million  : 
All's  one  to  me,  if  you  could  name  a  myriad. 

Mere    I  have  named  him. 

Johp.  You've  reason. 

Mere    Ay,  I  have  reason  ; 
Because  he's  said  to  be  the  father  of  conjurors, 
And  a  cunning  man  in  the  stars. 

Johp.  Ay,  that's  it  troubles  us 
A  little  for  the  present :  for,  at  this  time, 
He  is  confuting  a  French  almanack, 
But  he  will  straight  have  done,  have  you  but 

patience; 

Or  think  but  any  other  in  mean  time, 
Any  hard  name. 

Mere.  Then  Hermes  Trismegistus. 

Johp.  O,  o  TpKr^f/ifog  \  why,  you  shall  see  him, 
A  fine  hard  na;>ie.  Or  him,  or  whom  you  will, 
As  I  said  to  you  afore.  Or  what  do  you  think 
Of  Hoxvleglass,  instead  of  him  ? 

Mtre.  No,  him 
I  have  a  mind  to. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  73 

Johp.  O,  but  Ulen-spiegle, 
Were  such  a  name  !* — but  you  shall  have  your 

longing. 

What  luck  is  this,  he  should  be  busy  too ! 
He  is  weighing  water  but  to   fill  three  hour- 
glasses, 

And  mark  the  day  in  penn'orths  like  a  cheese, 
And  he  has  done.    Tis  strange  you  should  name  X 

him 

Of  all  the  rest  !  there  being  Jamblicus, 
Or  Porphyry,  or  Proclus,  any  name 
That  is  not  busy. 

Mere.  Let  me  see  Pythagoras. 

Johp.  Good. 

Mere.  Or  Plato. 

Johp.  Plato  is  framing  some  ideas, 
Are  now  bespoken,  at  a  groat  a  dozen, 
Three  gross  at  least :  and  for  Pythagoras, 
He  has  rashly  run  himself  on  an  employment, 
Of  keeping  asses  from  a  field  of  beans; 
And  cannot  be  stav'd  off. 

Mere.  Then,  Archimedes. 

Johp.  Yes,  Archimedes  ! 

Mere.  Ay,  or  jEsop. 

Johp.  Nay, 

Hold  your  first  man,  a  good  man,  Archimedes, 
And  worthy  to  be  seen ;    but  he  is  now 
Inventing  a  rare  mouse-trap  with  owl's  wings 
And  a  cat's-foot,  to  catch  the  mice  alone : 
And  ^Esop,  he  is  filing  a  fox-tongue, 
For  a  new  fable  he  has  made  of  court : 
But  you  shall  see  them  all,  stay  but  your  time, 
And  ask  in  season  ;  things  ask'd  out  of  season 
A  man  denies  himself.     At  such  a  time 

0,  but  Ulen-spiegle 


Were  such  a  name.]     See  vol.  ir.  p.  60. 


74  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

As  Christmas,  when  disguising  is  on  foot, 

To  ask  of  the  inventions,  and  the  men, 

The  wits  and  the  ingines  that  move  those  orbs ! — 

Methinks  you  should  inquire  now  after  Skelton, 

Or  master  Skogan. 

Mere.  Skogan  !   what  was  he  ? 

Johp.  O,  a  fine  gentleman,  and  master  of  arts, 
Of  Henry  the  fourth's  time,  that  made  disguises 
For  the  king's  sons,  and  writ  in  ballad-royal 
Daintily  well. 

Mere,  But  wrote  he  like  a  gentleman  ? 

Johp.    In    rhyme,     fine   tinkling   rhyme,,  and 

flowing  verse, 
With   now   and   then  some    sense !  and  he   was 

paid  for't, 

Regarded  and  rewarded  ;  which  few  poets          t 
Are  now-a-days. 

Mere.  And  why  ? 

Johp.  'Cause  every  dabbler 
In  rhyme  is  thought  the  same: — but  you  shall 

see  him. 
Hold  up  your  nose.   [Anoints  his  eyes  and  temples. 

Meer.  I  had  rather  see  a  Brachman, 
Or  a  Gymnosophist  yet. 

Johp.  You  shall  see  him,  sir, 
Is   worth    them    both  :     and    with   him   domine 

Skelton, 

The  worshipful  poet,  laureat  to  king  Harry, 
And  Tityre  tu  of  those  times.     Advance,  quick 

Skogan, 

And  quicker  Skelton,  shew  your  crafty  heads, 
Before  this  heir  of  arts,  this  lord  of  learning, 
This  master  of  all  knowledge  in  reversion! 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  75 

Enter  SKOGAN  and  SKELTON,  in  like  habits  as  they 


Skog,  Seemeth  we  are  call'd  of  a  moral  intent, 
If  the  words  that  are  spoken  as  well  now  be 

meant. 

Johp.  That,  master  Skogan,  I  dare  you  ensure. 
Skog.  Then,  son,  our  acquaintance   is  like   to 

endure. 
Mere.    A  pretty  game!  like  Crambo  ;  master 

Skogan, 

Give  me  thy  hand  :  thou  art  very  lean,  methinks, 
Is't  living  by  thy  wits? 

Skog.  If  it  had  been  that, 
My  worshipful  son,  thou  hadst  ne'er  been  so  fat. 

$  Enter  Skogan  and  Skelton  in  like  habits  as  they  lived.']  i.  e. 
in  the  dress  they  wore  while  they  were  alive.  This  puts  an  end 
to  the  grave  difficulties  and  graver  doubts  of  M.  Mason,  Stee. 
vcns,  and  Malone,  as  to  the  exclamation  of  Hamlet, 

"  My  father,  in    like  habit   as  he  lived," 
meaning,  in  the  clothes  which  he  usually  wore.     The  idea  of 
Steevens,  that  a  ghost   who  once  puts  on   armour,  can  never 
exchange  it  afterwards  for  any  thing  more  light  and  comfor- 
table, is  very  good. 

In  the  lines  which  follow,  Jonson  imitates  the  language  of 
Skogan  and  Skelton.  The  former  (Henry  Skogan)  lived  in  the 
time  of  Henry  IV.  and,  as  Sto\ve  sajs,  sent  a  ballad  to  the  young 
prince  (Shakspeare's  Hal)  and  his  brothers,  u  while  they  were 
ut  supper  in  the  Vintry,  amongst  the  merchants."  This  is  the 
lallad-vonal  of  which  our  poet  speaks:  it  was  not  very  well 
timed,  it  must  be  allowed  ;  and  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
opening  stanza,  moral  as  it  is,  it  was  not  much  better  tuned  : 
"  My  noble  sonne«  and  eke  my  Lords  doare, 

I  your  father  called  unworthily, 
St'nd  unto  you  this  ballad  following  here, 
Written  with  mine  owne  hand  full  rudely." 

I  have  no  knowledge  of  his  "  disguises."  If  moral  Skogan 
(for  this  was  his  usual  appellation)  wrote  any  things  of  this 
nature,  they  were  prolably  religious  pieceg,  Mysteries  and 
Moralities. 


76  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

Johp.  He  tells  you  true,  sir.     Here's  a  gen- 
tleman, 

My  pair  of  crafty  clerks,  of  that  high  caract, 
As  hardly  hath  the  age  produced  his  like. 
Who    not    content   with   the   wit   of  his   own 

times, 

Is  curious  to  know  yours,  and  what  hath  been. 
Mere.  Or  is,  or  shall  be. 
Johp.  Note  his  latitude. 
Skel.  O,  vir  amplissimus, 
Ut  scholis  dicimus, 
Et  gentilissimus  ! 
Johp.  The  quest \on-issimits 
Is,  should  he  ask  a  sight  now,  for  his  life  ; 
I  mean  a  person,  he  would  have  restored 
To  memory  of  these  times,  for  a  play-fellow, 
Whether  you  would  present  him  with  an  Hermes, 
Or  with  an  Howleglass  ? 
Skel.     An  Howleglass 
To  come  to  pass 
On  his  father's  ass  ; 
There  never  was, 
By  day,  nor  night, 
A  finer  sight 
With  feathers  upright 
In  his  horned  cap, 
And  crooked  shape, 
Much  like  an  ape, 
With  owl  on  fist, 
And  glass  at  his  wrist. 
Skog.  Except  the  four  knaves  entertain'd  for 

the  guards 
Of  the  kings  and  the  queens  that  triumph  in  the 

cards. 
Johp.  Ay,  that  were    a  sight  and   a   half,    I 

confess, 
To  see  'em  come  skipping  in,  all  at  a  mess ! 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  77 

Skel.  With  Elinor  Rumming, 

To  make  up  the  mumming  ;' 
That  comely  Gill, 
That  dwelt  on  a  hill, 
But  she  is  not  grill: — 
Her  face  all  bowsy, 
Droopy  and  drowsy, 
.    Scurvy,  and  lousy, 
Comdy  crinkled, 
Wondromly  wrinkled. 
Like  a  roast  pig's  ear 
Bristled  with  hair. 

Skog.  Or,  what  do  you  say  to  Ruffian  Fitz-Ale  ? 
Johp.  An  excellent  sight,  ,if  he  be  not  too  stale. 
But  then  we  can  mix  him  with  modern  Vapors, 
The  child  of  tobacco,  his  pipes,  and  his  papers. 

*  With  Elinor  Humming, 

To  make  up  the  mumming,  &c.]    These  are  Skelton's  own 
rerses  in  his  ballad  on  Eleanor  Rvmming,  the  old  ale-wife. 

WHAI. 

Jonson  \vas  evidently  fond  of  Skelton,  and  frequently  imitates 
his  short  titupping  style,  which  is  not  his  best.  I  know  Skelton 
only  by  the  modern  edition  of  his  works,  dated  1736.  But 
from  this  stupid  publication  I  can  easily  discover  that  he  was  no 
ordinary  man.  Why  Warton  and  the  writers  of  his  school 
rail  at  him  so  Tehemently,  I  know  not ;  he  was  perhaps  the 
best  scholar  of  his  day,  and  displays,  on  many  occasions, 
strong  powers  of  description,  and  a  vein  of  poetry  that  shines 
through  all  the  rubbish  which  ignorance  has  spread  over  it.  He 
flew  at  high  game,  and  therefore  occasionally  called  in  the  aid 
of  vulgar  ribaldry  to  mask  the  direct  attack  of  his  satire.  This 
was  seen  centuries  ago,  End  yet  we  are  now  instituting  a  process 
against  him  for  rudeness  and  indelicacy  !  "  By  what  means," 
says  Grange,  (who  wrote  about  the  beginning  of  Elizabeth's 
reign,)  could  Skelton,  that  laureat  poet,  have  uttered  his  mind 
so  well  at  large,  as  thorowe  his  cloke  of  mery  conceytes,  as  in 
his  Speake  Parrot,  Ware  the  Hawke,  The  Tunning  of  Elinor  Hum- 
ming, Why  come  ye  not  to  the  Court,  &c.  Yet  what  greater  sense 
or  better  matter  can  be,  than  is  in  this  ragged  rhyme  contayned? 
Or  who  would  bare  hsarde  his  fault  so  playnely  told  him,  if 
not  in  such  gibyng  sorte  ?"  The  Golden  Aphrodite. 


78  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

Mere.  You  talk'd  of  Elinor  Humming,  I  had 
rather 

See  Ellen  of  Troy. 
Johp.    Her  you  shall  see  : 

But  credit  me, 

That  Mary  Ambree 

(Who  march'd  so  free 

To  the  siege  of  Gaunt, 

And  death  could  not  daunt, 

As  the  hallad  doth  vaunt,?) 

Were  a  braver  wight, 

And  a  better  sight. 
SkeL      Or  Westminster  Meg,* 

With  her  long  leg, 

As  long  as  a  crane; 

And  feet  like  a  plane  : 

With  a  pair  of  heels, 

As  broad  as  two  wheels ; 

To  drive  down  the  dew, 

As  she  goes  to  the  stew  : 

And  turns  home  merry, 

By  Lambeth  ferry. 

Or  you  may  have  come 

In,  Thomas  Thumb, 

In  a  pudding  fat 

With  doctor  Rat. 

7  As  the  ballad  doth  "vaunt}    The  ballad,  of  which  the  first 
stanza  follows,  is  re-published  in  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  ii.  p.  218. 

*'  When  captains  courageous,  whom  death  colde  not  daunte, 
Did  march  to  the  siege  of  the  cittye  of  Gaunte, 
They  mustred  their  souldiers  by  two  and  by  three, 
And  foremost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree.''' 

8  Or  Westminster  Meg.]    There  is  a  penny  story-book  of  this 
tremendous  virago,   who   performed   many  wonderful  exploits 
about  the  time  that  Jack  the  Giant-killer  flourished.     She  was 
buried,  as  all  the  world  knows,  in  the  cloisters  of  Westminster 
abbey,  where  a  huge  stone  is  still  pointed  out  to  the  Whitaun- 
tide  visitors  as  her  grave-stone. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  79 

Johp.    Ay,  that !  that !   that ! 
We'll  have  'em  all, 
To  fill  the  hall. 

The  A N  T  i  M  A  s  Q  u  E  follows, 

Consisting  of  these  twelve  persons,  HOWLEGLASS, 
the  four  KNAVES,  two  RUFFIANS,  (FiTz-ALE 
and  VAPOR,)  ELINOR  RUM  MING,  MARY  AM- 
BREE,  LOXG  MEG  of  Westminster )  TOM  THUMB, 
and  doctor  RAT. 

They  DANCE,  and  withdraw. 

Mere.  What,  are  they  vanish'd  !  where  is  skip- 
ping Skelton? 

Or  moral  Skogan  ?  I  do  like  their  shew, 
And  would  have  thank'd  them,  being  the  first 

grace 

The  company  of  the  Rosy-cross  hath  done  me. 
Johp.    The  company   o'   the  Rosy-cross,  you 

widgeon ! 

The  company  of  [the]  players.     Go,  you  are, 
And  will  be  still  your  self,  a  Merefool,  in : 
And  take  your  pot  of  honey   here,  and  hogs- 
grease, 
See  who  has  gull'd  you,  and  make  one. 

[Exit  Merefool. 
Great  king, 
Your  pardon,  if  desire  to  please  have  trespass'd. 

9  The  company  of  [the]  players.]  Professional  actors,  as  has 
been  already  observed,  were  sometimes  employed  in  the  Anti- 
masques,  more  egpeciaily  where  they  were  of  a  very  grotesque 
and  ridiculous  nature. 


80  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

This  fool  should  have  been  sent  to  Anticyra, 
The  isle  of  Ellebore,  there  to  have  purg'd, 
Not  hoped  a  happy  seat  within  your  waters. — 
Hear  now  the  message  of  the  Fates,  and  Jove, 
On  whom  these  Fates  depend,  to  you,  as  Neptune 
The  great  commander  of  the  seas  and  isles. 
That  point  of  revolution  being  come, 
When  all  the  Fortunate  Islands  should  be  join'd, 
MACARIA  one,  and  thought  a  principal, 
That  hitherto  hath  floated,  as  uncertain 
Where  she  should  fix  her  blessings,  is  to-night 
Instructed  to  adhere  to  your  Britannia  : 
That  where  the  happy  spirits  live,  hereafter 
Might  be  no  question  made,  by  the  most  curious, 
Since  the  MACARII  come  to  do  you  homage, 
And  join  their  cradle  to  your  continent. 

Here  the  scene  opens,  and  the  MASQUERS  are  disco- 
vered  sitting  in  their  several  sieges.  The  air 
opens  above,  and  APOLLO,  with  HARMONV,  and 
the  SPIRITS  of  Music  sing,  the  while  the  Island 
moves  forward,  PROTEUS  sitting  below,  and 
hearkening. 

SONG. 

Look  forth,  the  shepherd  of  the  seas, 
And  of  the  ports  that  keep  the  keys, 

And  to  your  Neptune  tell, 
Macaria,  prince  oj  all  the  isles, 
Wherein  there  nothing  grows  but  smiles. 

Doth  here  put  in,  to  dwell. 

The  winds  are  sweet  and  gently  blow, 
But  Zephyrus,  no  breath  they  know, 
The  father  of  thejlowers : 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  81 

By  him  the  virgin  violets  live, 
And  every  plant  doth  odours  give, 
As  new,  as  are  the  hours. 

Cho.    Then,  think  it  not  a  common  cause, 
That  to  it  so  much  wonder  draws, 

And  all  the  heavens  consent, 
With  harmony  to  tune  their  notes, 
In  answer  to  the  public  votes, 
That  for  it  up  were  sent. 

By  this  time,  the  island  having  joined  itself  to 
the  shore,  PROTEUS,  PORTUNUS,  and  SARON 
come  forth,  and  go  up  singing  to  the  state, 
while  the  MASQUERS  take  time  to  rank  them- 
selves. 

SONG. 

Pro.  Ay,  now,  the  heights  of  Neptune's  honours  shine, 
And  all  the  glories  of  his  greater  style 
Are  read,  reflected  in  this  happiest  isle. 

Por.  How  both  the  air,  the  soil,  the  seat  combine 
To  speak  it  blessed! 

Sar.  These  are  the  true  groves 

Where  joys  are  born. 

Pro.  Where  longings, 

Por.  And  where  loves  I 

Sar.  That  live  I 

Pro.  That  last ! 

Por.  No  intermitted  wind 

Blows  here,  but  what  leaves  flowers  or  fruit 
behind. 

Cho.  'Tis  odour  all  that  comes  f 

And  every  tree  doth  give  his  gums. 

VOL.  VIII.  G 


82  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

Pro.  There  is  no  sickness,  nor  no  old  age  known 

To  man,  nor  any  grief  that  he  dares  own. 

There  is  no  hunger  here,  nor  envy  of  state. 

Nor  least  ambition  in  the  magistrate. 

But  all  are  even  hearted,  open,  free, 

And  what  one  is,  another  strives  to  be. 
Por.  Here,  all  the  day,  they  feast,  they  sport,  and 
spring, 

Now  dance  the  Graces'  hay ;  now  Venus  ring  •• 

To  which  the  old  musicians  play  and  sing. 
Sar.  There  is  Arion,  tuning  his  bold  harpt 

From  flat  to  sharp, 
Por.  And  light  Anacreon, 

He  still  is  one  ! 
Pro.  Stesichorus  there,  too, 

That  Linus  and  old  Orpheus  doth  outdo 

To  wonder. 

Sar.         And  Amphion  !  he  is  there. 
Por.          Nor  is  Apollo  dainty  to  appear 

In  such  a  quire,  although  the  trees  be  thick, 
Pro.  He  will  look  in,  and  see  the  airs  be  quick, 

And  that  the  times  be  true. 
Por.  Then,  chanting, 

Pro.  Then, 

Up  with  their  notes,  they  raise  the  prince  of 

men, 
Sar.  And  sing  the  present  prophesy  that  goes, 

Of  joining  the  bright  Lily  and  the  Rose. 

Cho.  See !  all  the  flowers, 

Pro.  That  spring  the  banks  along, 

Do  move  their  heads  unto  that  under  song. 

Cho.  Ssron,  Portunus,  Proteus,  help  to  bring 
Our  primrose  in,  the  glory  of  the  spring  ; 
And  tell  the  daffodil,  against  that  day, 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  83 

That  we  prepare  new  garlands  fresh  as  May, 
And  interweave  the  myrtle  and  the  bay. 

This  sung,  the  island  goes  back,  whilst  the  Upper 
Chorus  takes  it  from  them,  and  the  MASQUERS 
prepare  for  their  figure. 

Cho.     Spring  all  the  graces  of  the  age, 

And  all  the  loves  of  time  ; 
Bring  all  the  pleasures  of  the  stage. 

And  relishes  of  rhyme. 
Add  all  the  softnesses  of  courts, 

The  looks,  the  laughters,  and  the  sports  ; 
And  mingle  all  their  sweets,  and  salts, 

That  none  may  say,  the  triumph  halts. 

The  MASQUERS  dance   their  ENTRY,  or  FIRST 
DANCE. 

Which  done,  the  first  prospective,  a  maritime  palace* 
or  the  house  of  OCEAN  us  is  discovered  to  loud 
music. 

The  other  above  is  no  more  seen. 

Johp.  Behold  the  palace  of  Oceanus  ! 
Hail,  reverend  structure  !   boast  no  more  to  us 
Thy  being  able  all  the  gods  to  feast ; 
We  saw  enough  ;  when  Albion  was  thy  guest. 

Here  the  MEASURES. 

After  which,  the  second  prospective,  a  sea,  is  shown 
to  the  former  music. 

Johp.  Now  turn,  and  view  the  wonders  of  the 

deep, 

Where  Proteus'  herds,  and    Neptune's  ores  do 
keep, 

G  2 


84  THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES. 

Where  allisplough'd,  yet  still  the  pasture's  green; 
New  ways  are  found,  and  yet  no  paths  are  seen. 

Here  PROTEUS,  PORTUNUS,  SARON^O  up  to  the 
Ladies  with  this  SONG, 

Pro.  Come,  noble  nymphs,  and  do  not  hide 

The  joys  for  which  you  so  provide  : 
Sar.  If  not  to  mingle  with  the  men, 

What  do  you  here  ?  Go  home  agen* 
Por.  Your  dressings  do  confess, 

By  what  we  see,  so  curious  parts 

Of  Pallas,  and  Arachne's  arts, 

That  you  could  mean  no  less. 
Pro.  Why  do  you  wear  the  silk- worm's  toils, 

Or  glory  in  the  shell-Jish'  spoils  ; 

Or  strive  to  skew  the  grains  of  ore 

That  you  have  gathered  on  the  shore, 
If 'hereof  to  make  a  stock 

To  graft  the  greener  emerald  on, 

Or  any  better  watered  stone, 
Sar.  Or  ruby  of  the  rock. 

Pro.  Why  do  you  smell  of  amber-grisc, 

Of  which  was  formed  Neptune's  niece, 

The  queen  of  love ;  unless  you  can, 

Like  sea-born  Venus t  lone  a  man  ? 
Sar.  Try,  put  yourselves  unto't. 

Cho.  Your  looks,  your  smiles,  and  thoughts  that  meet, 
Ambrosian  hands,  and  silver  feet, 

Do  promise  you  will  do't. 

The  REVELS  follow. 

Which  ended,  the  fleet  is  discovered,  while  the  three 
cornets  play. 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES.  85 

Johp.  Tis  time,  your  eyes  should  be  refresh'd 

at  length 
With   something    new,    a    part  of    Neptune's 

strength, 

See  yond',  his  fleet,  ready  to  go  or  come, 
Or  fetch  the  riches  of  the  Ocean  home, 
So  to  secure  him,  both  in  peace  and  wars, 
Till  not  one  ship  alone,  but  all  be  stars. 

Then  the  last 
SONG. 

Pro.  Although  we  wish  the  glory  still  might  last 
Of  such  a  night,  and  for  the  causes  past : 
Yet  now,  great  lord  of  waters,  and  of  isles, 
Give  Proteus  leave  to  turn  unto  his  wiles. 

Por.  And  whilst  young  Albion  doth  thy  labours  ease. 
Dispatch  Portunus  to  the  ports. 

Sar.  And  Saron  to  the  seas, 

To  meet  old  Nereus,  with  hisjifty  girls, 
From  aged  Indus  laden  home  with  pearls, 
And  orient  gums,  to  burn  unto  thy  name. 

Cho.  And  may  thy  subjects'  hearts  be  all  on  flame. 
Whilst  thou  dost  keep  the  earth  injirm  estate, 
And  Amongst  the  winds  dost  suffer  no  debate  ; 
But  both  at  sea,  and  land,  our  powers  increase, 
With  health,  and  all  the  golden  gifts  of  peace. 

After  which  they  danced  their  last  DANCE. 
And  thus  it  ended. 


LOVE'S   TRI  UMPH 

THROUGH 

CALLIPOLIS. 

PERFORMED  IN  A  MASQUE  AT  COURT, 

1630. 

By  his  Majesty,  with  the  Lords  and  Gentlemen 
assisting. 

The  Inventors,  BEN  JONSON  ;  INIGO  JONES. 
Quando  magis  dignos  licuit  spectare  triumphos  ? 


LOVE'S  TRIUMPH  THROUGH  CALIJ*OLIS.]  From  the  small 
edition  in  4to.  1630,  which  differs  in  no  material  point  from 
the  second  folio.  In  this,  which  was  the  Queen's  Masque,  the 
King  was  a  performer  ;  in  that  which  follows,  (the  King's 
Masque,)  she  returned  the  compliment  It  does  not  appear  that 
either  Love's  Triumph,  or  Ckloridia,  which  follows  it,  was  given 
to  the  press  by  Jonson  :  the  latter  is  not  dated,  but  was  printed 
for  the  same  bookseller,  Thomas  Walkley,  as  the  former. 


LOVE'S   TRIUMPH. 


TO  MAKE  THE  SPECTATORS  UNDER8TANDERS. 

WHEREAS,  all  Representations,  especially  those  of 
this  nature  in  court,   public   spectacles,  either 
have  been,  or  ought  to  be,  the  mirrors  of  man's 
life,  whose  ends,  for  the  excellence  of  their  ex- 
hibitors (as  being  the  donatives  of  great  princes 
to  their  people)  ought  always  to  carry  a  mixture 
of  profit  with  them,  no  less  than  delight ;  we, 
the  inventors,  being  commanded  from  the  KING 
to  think  on  something  worthy  of  his  majesty's 
putting  iu  act,  with  a  selected  company  of  his 
lords  and  gentlemen,  called  to  the  assistance  ; 
for  the  honour  of  his  court,  and  the  dignity  of 
that  heroic  love,  and  regal  respect  born  by  him 
to  his  unmatchable  lady  and  spouse,  the  queen's 
majesty,  after  some  debate  of  cogitation   with 
ourselves,1  resolved  on  this  following  argument. 
First,   that  a  person,   boni  ominis,  of  a  good 
character,  as  Euphernus,  sent  down  from  heaven 
to  Callipolis,   which  is   understood  the  city  of 

1  dfter  some  debate  with  ourselves,  &c.]  This  is  worth  notice, 
as  it  seems  to  prove  that  up  to  this  late  period,  nearly  thirty 
years  from  the  commencement  of  their  connection,  nothing  had 
happened  to  interrupt  the  good  understanding  between  Inigo 
Jones  and  Jonson. 


SO  LOVE'S  TRIUMPH 

Beauty  or  Goodness,  should  come  in;  and,  finding 
her  majesty  there  enthroned,  declare  unto  her, 
that  Love,  who  was  wont  to  be  respected  as  a 
special  deity  in  court,  and  tutelar  god  of  the 
place,  had  of  late  received  an  advertisement, 
that  in  the  suburbs,  or  skirts  of  Callipolis,  were 
crept  in  certain  sectaries,  or  depraved  lovers, 
who  neither  knew  the  name,  or  nature  of  love 
rightly,  yet  boasted  themselves  his  followers, 
when  they  were  fitter  to  be  called  his  furies : 
their  whole  life  being  a  continued  vertigo,  or 
rather  a  torture  on  the  wheel  of  love,  than  any 
motion  either  of  order  or  measure.  When  sud- 
denly they  leap  forth  below,  a  mistress  leading 
them,  and  with  antic  gesticulation  and  action, 
after  the  manner  of  the  old  pantomimi,  they 
dance  over  a  distracted  comedy  of  love,  express- 
ing their  confused  affections,  in  the  scenical 
persons  and  habits  of  the  four  prime  European 
nations. 

A  glorious  boasting  lover. 
A  whining  ballading  lover. 
An  adventurous  romance  lover. 

A  phantastic  umbrageous  lover. 
A  bribing  corrupt  lover. 
A  f reward  jealous  lover. 

A  sordid  illiberal  lover. 
A  proud  scornful  lover. 
An  angry  quarrelling  lover. 

A  melancholic  despairing  lover. 
An  envious  unquiet  lover. 
A  sensual  brute  lover. 


THROUGH  CALLIPOLIS.  91 

All  -which,  in  varied  intricate  turns,  and  involved 
mazes,  expiest,  make  the  ANTIMASQUE  :  and  con- 
clude the  exit,  in  a  circle. 

EUPHEMUS  descends  singing. 

*  joy  to  mortals,  the  rejoicing  Jires 
Of  gladness  smile  in  your  dilated  hearts  ! 
Whilst  Love  presents  a  world  of  chaste  desires^ 
Which  may  produce  a  harmony  of  parts  ! 

Love  is  the  right  affection  of  the  mind, 

The  noble  appetite  of  what  is  best: 
Desire  of  union  with  the  thing  design  d, 

But  in  fruition  of  it  cannot  rest. 

The  father  Plenty  is,  the  mother  Want* 
Plenty  the  beauty  which  it  wanteth  draws ; 

Want  yields  itself ;  affording  what  is  scant : 
So  both  affections  are  the  unions  cause. 

But  rest  not  here.    For  love  hath  larger  scopes, 
JVewjoys,  new  pleasures,  of  as  fresh  a  date 

As  are  his  minutes  :  and  in  him  no  hopes 
Are  pure,  but  those  he  can  perpetuate. 

[He  goes  up  to  the  state. 

To  you,  that  are  by  excellence  a  queen  i 
The  top  of  beauty  /  but  of  such  an  air, 

As  only  by  the  mind's  eye  may  be  seen 
Tour  interwoven  lines  of  good  and  fair  ! 

*  The  father  Plenty  is,  the  mother  Want.]  This  allegory  is 
a  fiction  of  Plato,  in  his  Symposium.  WHA.L. 

Whalley  was  not  aware  of  the  existence  of  the  4to.  edition, 
There  Jonson  gives  the  names  Porus  and Penia. 


92  LOVE'S  TRIUMPH 

Vouchsafe  to  grace  love's  triumph  here  to-night. 
Through  all  the  streets  of  your  Callipolis  ; 

Which  by  the  splendor  of  your  rays  made  bright, 
The  scat  and  region  of  all  beauty  is. 

Love  in  perfection  longeth  to  appear, 
But  prays  of  favour  he  be  not  calVd  on, 

Till  all  the  suburbs  and  the  skirts  be  clear 
Of  perturbations,  and  tK  injection  gone. 

Then  will  he  flow  forth,  like  a  rich  perfume 
Into  your  nostrils!  or  some  sweeter  sound 

Of  melting  music,  that  shall  not  consume 
Within  the  ear,  but  run  the  mazes  round. 

Here  the  CHORUS  walk  about  with  their  censers. 

Cho.  Mean  time,  we  make  lustration  of  the  place, 

And,  with  our  solemn  Jires  and  waters  prove 
T'have  frighted  hence  the  weak  diseased  race 
Of  those  were  tortured  on  the  wheel  of  love. 

The  Glorious,  Whining,  the  Adventurous  fool 
Fantastic,  Bribing,  and  the  Jealous  ass. 

The  Sordid,  Scornful,  and  the  Angry  mule, 
The  Melancholic,  Dull,  and  Envious  mass. 

Grand  Clio.  With  all  the  rest,  that  in  the  sensual 

school 

Of  lust,  for  their  degree  of  brute  may  pass; 
All  which  are  vapour  'd  hence. 
No  loves,  but  slaves  to  sense; 
Mere  cattle,  and  not  men. 
Sound,  sound,  and  treble  all  our  joys  agen, 
Who  had  the  power  and  virtue  to  remove 
Such  monsters  Jrom  the  labyrinth  of  love. 


THROUGH  CALLIPOLIS.  93 


The  scene  opens  and  discovers  a  prospect  of  the 
sea.  The  TRIUMPH  is  first  seen  afar  off,  and 
led  in  by  AMPHITRITE,  the  wife  of  Oceanus, 
with  four  sea  gods  attending  her,  NEREUS, 
PROTEUS,  GLAUCUS,  PAL^EMON. 

The  Triumph9  consisted  of  fifteen  LOVERS,  and 
as  many  Cupids,  who  rank  themselves  seven 
and  seven  on  a  side,  with  each  a  Cupid  before 
him,  with  a  lighted  torch,  and  the  middle 
person  (which  is  his  Majesty)  placed  in  the 
centre.4 

3  The  Triumph,  &c.]  The  approach  of  this  Triumph,  (that  i> 
the  procession,  or  grand  entry  of  the  Masquers  crowned  with 
chaplets  of  roses,  laurel,  and  all  the  rich  adornments  of  victory, 
and  ushered  in  by  ablaze  of  torches,)  must  have  afforded  a  mag- 
nificent spectacle.    Indeed,  the  whole  of  this  masque  is  credi. 
table  to  the  fancy  of  the  inventors  ;    who  appear  to  have  con- 
sulted the  splendor  of  the  show  more  than  the  usual  concomitants 
of  poetry,  music,  and  dancing. 

4  If  the  reader  is  curious  to  know  who  presented  the  re- 
spective  lovers,  he  may  learn  it  from  the  following  arrangement 
as  given  by  the  author. 

1.  The  provident.  Marquess  of  HAMILTON. 

2.  The  judicious.  Lord  Chamberlain. 

3.  The  secret.  Earl  of  HOLLAND. 

4.  The  valiant.  Earl  of  CARNARTON. 

5.  The  witty.  Earl  of  NEWPORT. 

6.  The  jovial.  Viscount  DONCASTER. 

7.  The  secure.  Lord  STRANGE. 

15.  THE  HEROICAL.  The  KING. 

8.  The  substantial.  Sir  WILLIAM  HOWARD. 

9.  The  modest.  Sir  ROBERT  STANLEY. 

10.  The  candid.  Sir  WILLIAM  BROOK. 

11.  The  courteous.  Master  GORING. 

12.  The  elegant.  Master  RALEGH. 

13.  The  rational.  Master  DIMOCK. 

14.  The  magnificent.  Master  ABERCROMY. 


94  LOVE'S  TRIUMPH 

Am  ph.  Here  stay  a  while :  this,  this, 
The  temple  of  all  beauty  is  ! 
Here,  perfect  lovers,  you  must  pay 
First  fruits;  and  on  these  altars  lay 
(The  ladies  breasts,)  your  ample  vows, 
Such  as  love  brings,  and  beauty  best  allows  I 

Cho.       For  love  without  his  object  soon  is  gone : 
Love  must  have  answering  love  to  look  upon. 

Amph.  To  you,  best  judge  then  of  perfection  * 
Euph.    The  queen  of  what  is  wonder  in  the  place  ! 
Amph.   Pure  object  of  heroic  love,  alone  ! 
Euph.    The  centre  of  proportion  ! — 
Amph.  Sweet  ness  / 

Euph.  Grace ! 

Amph,  Deign  to  receive  all  lines  of  love  in  one. 
Euph.  And  by  reflecting  of  them  Jill  this  space. 
Cho.  Till  it  a  circle  of'  those  glories  prove, 

Fit  to  be  sought  in  beauty,  found  by  love. 
Semi-cho.  Where  love  is  mutual,  still 

All  things  in  order  move. 
Semi-cho.  The  circle  of  the  will 

Is  the  true  sphere  of  love. 

Cho,      Advance,  you  gentler  Cupids,  then,  advance, 
Andshew  your  just  perfections  in  your  dance. 

The  CUPIDS  dance  their  dance;  and  the  MAS- 
QUEHS  their  Entry. 

Which  done,  Eu  c  LIA,  or  afair  glory,  appears  in  the 
heavens,  singing  an  applausive  SONG,  or  Pagan 
of  the  whole,  which  she  takes  occasion  to  in- 
geminate in  the  second  chorus,  upon  the  sight 
of  a  work  of  Neptune's,  being  a  hollow  rock, 
filling  part  of  the  sea-prospect,  whereon  the 
MUSES  sit. 


THROUGH  CALLIPOLIS.  95 


HYMN. 

Euc.  So  love  emergent  out  of  chaos  brought 

The  world  to  light  I 

And  gently  moving  on  the  waters,  wrought 
Aliform  to  sight ! 

Love's  appetite 
Did  beauty  first  excite  : 
And  left  imprinted  in  the  air 
Those  signatures  of  good  and  fair, 
Cho.  Which  since  have  flow' d,  flow"  d  forth  upon  the 

sense 

To  wonder  Jirst,  and  then  to  excellence, 
By  virtue  of  divine  intelligence  ! 

The  Ingemination. 

And  Neptune  too, 
Shews  what  his  waves  can  do : 
To  call  the  Muses  all  to  play, 
And  sing  the  birth  of  Venus'  day, 
Cho.  Which  from  the  sea  flow  d  forth  upon  the  sense, 
To  wonder  Jirst,  and  next  to  excellence, 
By  virtue  of  divine  intelligence ! 

Here  follow  the  REVELS. 

Which  ended,  the  scene  changeth  to  a  garden, 
and  the  heavens  opening,  there  appear  four 
new  persons,  in  form  of  a  Constellation,  sit- 
ting; or  a  new  Asterism,  expecting  VENUS, 
whom  they  call  upon  with  this 


96  LOVE'S  TRIUMPH 

SONG. 
JUPITER,  JUNO,  GENIUS,  HYMEN. 

Jup.     Haste,  daughter  Venus,  haste  and  come  away, 
Jim.     All  powers  that  govern  marriage,  pray 

That  you  will  lend  your  light, 
Gen.    Unto  the  constellation  of  this  night. 
Hym.  Hymen. 
Jim.    And  Juno. 
Gen.    And  the  Genius  call. 
Jup.     Your  father  Jupiter. 
Grand  Cho.    And  all 

That  bless  or  honour  holy  nuptial. 

VENUS  here  appears  in  a  cloud,  and  passing 
through  the  Constellation,  descendeth  to  the 
earth,  when  presently  the  cloud  vanisheth, 
and  she  is  seen  sitting  in  a  throne. 

Ven.  Here,  here  I  present  am 

Both  in  my  girdle,  and  myjlame  ; 
Wherein  are  woven  all  the  powers 
The  Graces  gave  me,  or  the  Hours, 
My  nurses  once,  with  all  the  arts 
Of  gaining,  and  of  holding  hearts  : 

And  these  with  I  descend. 
But,  to  your  influences,  Jirst  commend 

The  vow,  I  go  to  take 
On  earth,  for  perfect  love  and  beauty's  sake. 

Her  song  ended,  and  she  rising  up  to  go  to  the 
queen,  the  throne  disappears :  in  place  of 
which,  there  shooteth  up  a  palm-tree  with  an 
imperial  crown  on  the  top ;  from  the  root 
whereof,  lilies  and  roses  twining  together,  and 


THROUGH  CALLIPOLIS.  97 

embracing  the  stem,  flourish  through  the 
crown;  which  she  in  the  SONG  with  the 
CHORUS  describes. 

Grand  Cho.  Beauty  and  Love,  whose  story  is  mys- 

terial, 

In  yonder  palm-tree,  and  the  crown  imperial, 
Do  from  the  Rose  and  Lily,  so  delicious, 
Promise  a  shade,  shall  ever  be  propitious 
To  both  the  kingdoms.  But  to  Britain's  Genius 
The  snaky  rod,  and  serpents  of  Cyllenius 
Bring  not  more  peace  than  these,  who  so  united  be 
By  Love,  as  with  it  earth  and  heaven  delighted  be. 
And  who  this  king  and  queen  would  well  historify, 
Need  only  speak  their  names  ;  these  them  will  glorify: 
MARY   and  CHARLES,   Charles  with   his    Mary 

named  are, 
And  all  the  rest  of  loves  or  princes  famed  are. 

After  this,  they  DANCE  their  going  out, 
And  thus  it  ended. 


VOL.  VIII.  H 


CHLORIDIA. 

RITES  TO  CHLORIS  AND  HER  NYMPHS. 

PERSONATED  IN  A 

MASQUE  AT  COURT. 

By  the  Queen's  MAJESTY,  and  her  Ladies,  at 
Shrove-tide,  ]630. 

The  Inventors,  BEN  JONSON;  INIGO  JONES. 
Unius  tellus  ante  colons  erat. 


CHLORIDIA.]  From  the  undated  4to.  but  probably  printed 
in  1630  :  it  is  also  in  the  fol.  1641.  See  the  observations  on 
Love's  Triumph.  No  mention  of  Jones  occurs  in  the  4to.  edition 
of  this  Masque  ;  though  his  name  is  found  in  the  folio. 


CHLORIDIA. 


THE  King  and  Queen's  majesty  having  given 
their  command  for  the  invention  of  a  new  argu- 
ment, with  the  whole  change  of  the  scene, 
wherein  her  majesty,  with  the  like  number  of 
her  ladies,  purposed  a  presentation  to  the  king; 
it  was  agreed,  it  should  be  the  celebration  of 
some  rites  done  to  the  goddess  Chloris,  who,  in 
a  general  council  of  the  gods,  was  proclaimed 
goddess  of  the  flowers  ;  according  to  that  of 
Ovid,  in  the  Fasti, 

Arbitrium  tu  Deafloris  habe. 

And  was  to  be  stellified  on  earth,  by  an  absolute 
decree  from  Jupiter,  who  would  have  the  earth 
to  be  adorn'd  with  stars,  as  well  as  the  heaven. 
Upon  this  hinge  the  whole  invention  moved. 
The  ornament  which  went  about  the  scene, 
was  composed  of  foliage,  or  leaves  heighten'd 
with  gold,  and  interwoven  with  all  sorts  of 
flowers,  and  naked  children,  playing  and  climb- 
ing among  the  branches ;  and  in  the  midst  a 
great  garland  of  flowers,  in  which  was  written, 
CHLORIDIA. 

The  curtain  being  drawn  up,  the  scene  is  dis- 
covered, consisting  of  pleasant  hills,  planted 
with  young  trees,  and  all  the  lower  banks  adorned 


102  CHLORIDIA. 

with  flowers.  And  from  some  hollow  parts  of 
those  hiils,  fountains  come  gliding  down  ;  which, 
in  the  far  off  landscape,  seemed  all  to  be  con- 
verted to  a  river. 

Over  all  a  serene  sky,  with  transparent  clouds, 
giving  a  great  lustre  to  the  whole  work ;  which 
did  imitate  the  pleasant  Spring. 

When  the  spectators  had  enough  fed  their 
eyes  with  the  delights  of  the  scene,  in  a  part  of 
the  air,  a  bright  cloud  begins  to  break  forth  ; 
and  in  it  is  sitting  a  plump  boy,  in  a  changeable 
garment,  richly  adorned,  representing  the  mild 
ZEPHYRUS.  On  the  other  side  of  the  scene,  in  a 
purplish  cloud,  appeareth  the  SPRING,  a  beau- 
tiful maid,  her  upper  garment  green,  under  it  a 
white  robe  wrought  with  flowers;  a  garland  on 
her  head. 

Here  ZEPHYRUS  begins  his  dialogue,  calling 
her  forth,  and  making  narration  of  the  gods' 
decree  at  large,  which  she  obeys,  pretending  it 
is  come  to  earth  already  ;  and  there  begun  to 
be  executed  by  the  king's  favour,  who  assists 
with  all  bounties,  that  may  be  either  urged  as 
causes  or  reasons  of  the  Spring. 

1    SONG, 

Zeph.       Come  forth,  come  forth,  the  gentle  Spring, 
And  carry  the  glad  news  I  bring, 

To  eartht  our  common  mother : 
It  is  decreed  by  all  the  gods, 
That  heaven  of  earth  shall  have  no  odds, 
But  one  shall  love  another. 

Their  glories  they  shall  mutual  make, 
Earth  look  on  heaven,  for  heaven 's  sake, 
Their  honours  shall  be  even : 


CH  LOR  ID  I  A.  105 

All  emulation  cense,  and  jars, 
Jove  will  I  ave  earth  to  have  her  stars 
And  lights,  no  less  than  heaven. 

Spring.    It  is  already  done,  in  flowers 

Asfreih  and  new  as  are  the  hours, 

By  warmth  of  yonder  sun  : 
But  will  be  multiplied  on  us, 
If  from  the  breath  of  Zephyrus 

Like  favour  we  have  won. 


Zeph.       Give  all  to  him  :  His  is  the 

The  heat,  the  humour, 
Spring.  .  —  All  the  true 

Beloved  of  the  Spring  ! 
Zeph.       The  sun,  the  wind,  the  verdure! 
Spring.  —  All 

That  wisest  nature  cause  can  call 
Of  fjjuick'ning  any  thing. 

At  which  ZEPHYRUS  passeth  away  through  the 
air,  and  the  SPRING  descendeth  to  the  earth; 
and  is  received  by  the  NAIADES,  or  Napese, 
who  are  the  nymphs,  fountains,  and  servants 
of  the  season. 

2   SONG. 

Naides.  Fair  maid,  but  are  you  come  to  dwell,- 

And  tarry  with  us  here  ? 
Spring.  Fresh  Fountains,  I  am  come  to  tell 

A  tale  inyond*  soft  ear, 
Whereof  the  murmur  wll  do  well; 

If  you  your  parts  will  bear. 
Naides.  Our  pur  lings  wait  upon  the  Spring. 
Spring.  Go  uf>  with  me,  then  ;  help  to  sing 

The  story  to  the  king. 


104  CHLORIDIA 


Here  the  SPRING  goes  up,  singing  the  argument, 
to  the  king,  and  the  N AIDES  follow  with  the 
close. 

Spring.       Cupid  hath  taen  offence  of  late, 
At  all  the  gods,  that  of  the  state, 
And  in  their  council,  he  was  so  deserted, 
Not  to  be  caWd  unto  their  guild, 
But  slightly  pass*  d  by  as  a  child. 

Naides.  Wherein  he  thinks  his  honour  was  perverted. 

Spring.       And  though  his  mother  seek  to  season, 

And  rectify  his  rage  with  reason, 
By  shewing  he  lives  yet  under  her  command, 
Rebellious  he  doth  disobey, 
And  she  hath  forced  his  arms  away. 

Naides.   To  make  him  Jed  the  justice  of  her  hand. 

Whereat  the  boy,  in  fury  fell, 
With  all  his  speed,  is  gone  to  hell, 
There  to  excite  and  stir  up  jealousy. 
To  make  a  pai  ty  'gainst  the,  gods, 
And  set  heaven,  earth,  and  hell  at  odds. 
Naides.  And  raise  a  chaos  of  calamity. 

The  SONG  ended,  the  Nymphs  fall  into  a  dance, 
to  their  voices  and  instruments,  and  so  return 
into  the  scene. 


The    ANTIMASQUE. 

A  part  of  the  under-ground  opening,  out  of  it  enter 
a  DWARF  post  pom  hell,  riding  on  a  curt  a  I,  with 
cloven  f get,  and  two  Lacqueys :  these  DANCE,  and 


CHLORIDIA.  105 

make  the  first  entry  of  the  Antimasque.  He  alights 
and  speaks. 

Dwarf.  Hold  my  stirrup,  my  one  lacquey  ; 
and  look  to  my  curtal,  the  other  ;  walk  him  well, 
sirrah,  while  I  expatiate  myself  here  in  the  re- 
port of  my  office.  Oh,  the  Furies  !  how  I  am 
joyed  with  the  title  of  it!  Postillion  of  hell!  yet 
no  Mercury :  hut  a  mere  cacodasmon,  sent 
hither  with  a  packet  of  news  !  news  !  never  was 
hell  so  furnished  of  the  commodity  of  news! 
Love  hath  been  lately  there,  and  so  entertain'd 
by  Pluto  and  Proserpine,  and  all  the  grandees  of 
the  place,  as  it  is  there  perpetual  holyday ;  and 
a  cessation  of  torment  granted,  and  proclaimed 
for  ever!  Half-famish 'd  Tantalus  is  fallen  to  his 
fruit,  with  that  appetite,  as  it  threatens  to  undo 
the  whole  company  of  costard-mongers;  and 
has  a  river  afore  him,  running  excellent  wine. 
Ixion  is  loosed  from  his  wheel,  and  turn'd  dancer, 
does  nothing  but  cut  capreols,  fetch  friskals, 
and  leads  lavoltos  with  the  Lamiaj !  Sisyphus 
has  left  rolling  the  stone,  and  is  grown  a  master- 
bowler  ;  challenges  all  the  prime  gamesters, 
parsons  in  hell,  and  gives  them  odds ;  upon 
Tityus's  breast,  that  (for  six  of  the  nine  acres) 
is  counted  the  subtlest  bowling-ground  in  all 
Tartary.1  All  the  Furies  are  at  a  game  call'd 
nine-pins,  or  keils,  made  of  old  usurers' bones, 
and  their  souls  looking  on  with  delight,  and 
betting  on  the  game  !  Never  was  there  such 
freedom  of  sport.  Danaus' daughters  have  broke 

1  Is  counted  the  subtlest  bowling-ground  in  all  Tartary. ~]    i.  c. 
the  smoothest,  finest :  the  expression  occurs  in  Shakspeare  : 

"  Like  to  a  bowl  upon  a  subtle  ground."  Coriolanus,  Act.  5. 

WHAL. 


106  CHLORIDIA. 

their  bottomless  tubs,  and  made  bonfires  of  them. 
All  istunfd  triumph  there.  Had  hell-gates  been 
kept  with  half  that  strictness,  as  the  entry  here 
has  been  to-night,  Pluto  would  have  had  but  a 
cold  court,  and  Proserpine  a  thin  presence, 
though  both  have  a  vast  territory.  We  had  such 
a  stir  to  get  in,  I,  and  my  curtal,  and  my  two 
lacqueys,  all  ventured  through  the  eye  of  a 
Spanish  needle,  we  had  never  come  in  else,  and 
that  was  by  the  favour  of  one  of  the  guard  who 
was  a  woman's  tailor,  and  held  ope  the  passage. 
— Cupid  by  commission  hath  carried  Jealousy 
from  hell,  Disdain,  Fear,  and  Dissimulation,  with 
other  goblins,  to  trouble  the  gods.  And  I  am 
sent  after,  post,  to  raise  TEMPEST,  WINDS, 
LIGHTNINGS,  THUNDER,  RAIN,  and  SNOW,  for 
some  new  exploit  they  have  against  the  earth, 
and  the  goddess  Chloris,  queen  of  the  flowers, 
and  mistress  of  the  Spring.  For  joy  of  which,  I 
will  return  to  myself,  mount  my  bidet,  in  a  dance; 
and  curvet  upon  my  curtal. 

Here  he  mounts  his  curtal^  and  with  his  lacqueys, 
danceth  forth  as  he  came  in. 

Second  ENTRY. 

Cupid,  Jealousy,  Disdain,  Fear,  and  Dissimu- 
lation dance  together. 

Third  ENTRY. 

The  queen's  dwarf,*  richly  apparelled,  as  a  prince 
of  hell,  attended  by  six  infernal  spirits,  he  first 

*  The  queen's  dwarf."]  Jeffrey  Hudson.  He  was  born  at 
Oakham,  in  Rutlandshire.  His  father,  who  kept  the  duke  of 
Buckingham's  "  baiting- bulls,"  and  was,  as  Fuller  says,  a  very 


CHLORIDIA.  107 

danceth  alone,  and  then  the  spirits,  all  expressing 
their  joy  for  Cupid's  coming  among  them. 

Fourth  ENTRY. 

Here  the  scene  changeth  into  a  horrid  storm ; 
out  of  which  enters  the  nymph  Tempest,  with 
four  Winds;  they  dance. 

Fifth  ENTRY. 

Lightnings,  three  in  number,  their  habits 
glistering  expressing  that  effect,  in  their  motion. 

Sixth  ENTRY. 

Thunder  alone  dancing  the  tunes  to  a  noise, 
mixed,  and  imitating  thunder. 

proper  man,  broad  shouldered  and  broad  chested,  presented 
him  to  the  Duchess,  when  he  was  nine  years  old,  and  scarcely 
a  foot  and  half  in  height.  In  1626,  he  was  served  up  to  the 
king  and  queen,  then  upon  a  visit  to  Burleigh,  in  a  cold  pye  ; 
and  subsequently  taken  to  Whitehall,  where  he  became  the 
queen's  page,  and  entered  into  the  diversions  of  the  court. 

It  is  probable  that  he  played  Tom  Thumb  in  the  preceding 
Masque,  in  which  Evans,  the  gigantic  porter,  in  the  character 
of  Dr.  Rat,  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  the  spectators,  pro- 
duced him  out  of  his  pocket. 

But  Jeffrey  played  a  part  in  more  serious  affairs.  He  wa« 
sent  some  time  after  this,  to  I*  ranee,  to  fetch  a  midwife  for  the 
queen  ;  and  ou  his  return  was  captured  by  a  Dunkirk  pri- 
vateer. On  the  breaking  out  of  the  civil  war,  he  held  a  com- 
mission in  the  cavalry,  and  followed  his  mistress  to  France. 
Here  he  had  a  dispute  with  a  Mr.  Crofts,  a  young  gentleman 
of  family,  which  ended  in  a  challenge.  Crofts  came  to  the  field 
armed  with  a  squirt : — this  only  served  to  exasperate  matters; 
and  a  real  duel  ensued,  in  which  Jeffrey  shot  his  antagonist 
dead  upon  the  spot.  For  this,  (Fuller  says,)  he  was  imprisoned. 

He  returned  to  England  after  the  Restoration,  and  was  in- 
volved in  some  trouble  on  account  of  what  was  called  the 
Popish  Plot.  He  died  about  16'83. 


108  CHLORIDIA. 


Seventh  ENTRY. 

Rain,  presented  by  five  persons,  all  swollen, 
and  clouded  over,  their  hair  flagging,  as  if  they 
were  wet,  and  in  their  hands  balls  full  of  sweet 
water,  which,  as  they  dance,  sprinkle  all  the  room. 

Eighth  ENTRY. 

Seven  with  rugged  white  heads  and  beards,  to 
express  Snow,  with  flakes  on  their  garments, 
mixed  with  hail.  These  having  danced,  return 
into  the  stormy  scene,  whence  they  came. 

Here,  by  the  providence  of  Juno,  the  Tempest 
on  an  instant  ceaseth  ;  and  the  scene  is  changed 
into  a  delicious  place,  figuring  the  BOWER  OF 
CHLORIS.  Where,  in  an  arbour  feigned  of  gold- 
smith's-work,  the  ornament  of  which  was  born 
up  with  termes  of  satyrs,  beautified  with  fes- 
toons, garlands,  and  all  sorts  of  fragrant  flowers. 
Beyond  all  this,  in  the  sky  a-far  off,  appeared  a 
rainbow :  in  the  most  eminent  place  of  the 
Bower,  sat  the  goddess  CHLORIS,  accompanied 
with  fourteen  nymphs,3  their  apparel  white, 

»  The  names  of  the  Masquers,  who  personated  the  Nymphs, 
are  thus  given  by  the  poet,  arranged  as  they  sat  in  the  BOWER. 

1.  Countess  of  CARLISLE.  2.  Countess  of  CARNARVON. 

3.  Countess  of  BERKSHIRE.         4.  M.  PORTER. 

5.  Countess  of  NEWPORT.  6.  M.  DOR.  SAVAGE. 

15.  The  QUEEN. 

7.  Countess  of  OXFORD.  8.  Lady  HOWARD. 

9.  Lady  ANNE  CAVENDISH.  10.  M.  ELIZ.  SAVAGE. 

11.  Lady  PENELOPE  EGERTON.  12.  M.ANNE  WESTON. 

13.  Lady  STRANGE.  14.  M.  SOPHIA  CAEY, 


CHLORIDIA.  109 

embroidered  with  silver,  trimmed  at  the  shoul- 
ders with  great  leaves  of  green,  embroidered 
with  gold,  falling  one  under  the  other.  And  of 
the  same  work  were  their  bases,  their  head-tires 
of  flowers,  mixed  with  silver  and  gold,  with 
some  sprigs  of  aegrets  among,  and  from  the  top 
of  their  dressing,  a  thin  veil  hanging  down. 

Allwhich  beheld,  the  NYMPHS,  RIVERS,  and  FOUN- 
TAINS, with  the  SPRING,  sung  this  rejoicing  Song. 

3  SONG. 

Grand.  Cho.  Runout,  all  the  floods,  in  joy,  with 
your  silver  feet, 

And  haste  to  meet 

The  enamoured  Spring, 
For  whom  the  warbling  fountains  sing  : 

The  story  of  the  flowers, 

Preserved  by  the  Hours  ; 
At  Juno's  soft  command,  and  Iris'  showers  ; 
Sent  to  quench  jealousy,  and  all  those  powers 
Of  Love's  rebellious  war  : 
Whilst  CHLORIS  sits  a  shining  star 
To  crown,  and  grace  our  jolly  song,  made  long, 
To  the  notes  that  we  bring,  to  glad  the  Spring. 

Which  ended,  the  Goddess  and  her  Nymphs 
descend  the  degrees  into  the  room,  and  dance 
the  Entry  of  the  GRAND  MASQUE. 

After  this,  another  SONG  by  the  same  persons  as 

before. 

4  SONG. 

Grand  Cho.  Tell  a  truth,  gay  Spring,  let  us  know 
JVhatfeet  they  were,  that  so 


lid  CHLORIDIA. 

Impressed  the  earth,  and  made  such  various 
flowers  to  grow. 

Spring.  She  that  led,  a  queen  was  at  least, 

Or  a  goddess  'hove  the  rest : 
And  all  their  graces  in  herself  exprest. 

Grand  Cho.  O,  'twere  a  fame  to  know  her  name  ! 

Whether  she  were  the.  root ; 
Or  they  did  take  M'  impression  from  her  foot. 

The  MASQUERS  here  dance  their  second  Dance. 

Which  done,  the  farther  prospect  of  the  scene 
changeth  into  air,  with  a  low  landscape,  in  part 
covered  with  clouds:  and  in  that  instant,  the 
heaven  opening,  JUNO  and  IRIS  are  seen;  and 
above  them  many  airy  spirits,  sitting  in  the 
clouds. 

5    SONG. 

Juno.   Now  Juno,  and  the  air  shall  know, 

The  truth  of  what  is  done  below 

From  our  discoloured  bow. 

Iris,  what  news  f 
Iris.      The  air  is  clear,  your  bow  can  tell, 

Chloris  renown  d,  Spightfled  to  hell ; 

The  business  all  is  well. 

And  Cupid  sues. 
Juno.  For  pardon  !  Does  tie  ? 
Iris.  He  sheds  tears 

More  than  your  birds  hare  eyes. 
Juno.  The  gods  have  ears: 

Offences  made  against  the  deities 

Are  soonjorgot. — , 
Iris.  JJ  who  offends  be  wise. 


CHLORIDIA.  ill 

Here,  out  of  the  earth  ariseth  a  Hill,  and  on 
the  top  of  it  a  globe,  on  which  FAME  is  seen 
standing  with  her  trumpet  in  her  hand  ;  and  on 
the  hill  are  seated  four  persons,  presenting 
POESY,  HISTORY,  ARCHITECTURE,  and  SCULP- 
TURE ;  who  together  with  the  Nymphs,  Floods, 
and  Fountains,  make  a  full  choir ;  at  which 
FAME  begins  to  mount,  and  moving  her  wings 
flieth,  singing,  up  to  heaven. 

Fame.  Rise,  golden  Fame,  and  give  thy  name  a  birth. 

Cho.    From  great  and  generous  actions   done  on 
earth. 

Fame.  The  life  of  Fame  is  action. 

Cho.  Understood, 

That  action  must  be  virtuous,  great,  and  good. 

Fame.   Virtue  itsdf  by  Fame  is  oft  protected, 
And  dies  despised 

Cho.  Where  the  Fame" s  neglected.* 

Fame.  Who  hath  not   heard  of  Chloris,   and  her 

bower, 

Fair  Iris'  act,  employed  by  Juno's  power. 
To  guard  the  Spring,  and  prosper  every  flower, 
Whom  jealousy  and  hell  thought  to  devour? 

Cho.  Great  actions  oft  obscured  by  time,  may  lie, 
Or  envy 

Fame.  But  they  last  to  memory. 

Poesy.  We  that  sustain  thee,  learned  Poesy, 

» 

4  Where  the  Fame's  neglected.'}  This  sentiment  has  occurred 
more  than  once  before.  It  is  from  Tacitus :  Conttmptu  fanuz 
contemni  virtutem. 


112  CHLORIDIA. 

Hist.    And  I  her  sister,  severe  History, 

Archi.  With  Architecture,  who  will  raise  thee  high, 

Sculp.  And  Sculpture,  that  can  keep  thee  from  to  dief 

Cho.  All  help  to  lift  thee  to  eternity. 

Juno.    And  Juno  through  the  air  doth  make  thy  way. 
Iris.      By  her  serenest  messenger  of  day. 
Fame.   Thus  Fame  ascends,  by  all  degrees,  to  heaven, 
And  leaves  a  light,  here,  brighter  than  the 
seven. 

Grand  Cho.  Let  all  applaud  the  sight. 
Airjirst,  that  gave  the  bright 
Reflections,  day  or  night  ! 
With  these  supports  of  Fame, 
That  keep  alive  her  name  ! 
The  beauties  of  the  Spring. 
Founts,  Rivers,  every  thing : 
From  the  height  of  all, 
To  the  waters  fall, 
Resound  and  sing 

The  honours  of  his  Chloris,  to  the  king. 
Chloris,  the  queen  oj  flowers; 
The  sweetness  of  all  showers  ; 
The  ornament  of  bowers : 
The  top  of  paramours. 

FAME  being  hidden  in  the  clouds,  the  hill  sinks, 
and  the  heaven  closeth. 

The  MASQUERS  dance  with  the  LORDS. 
And  thus  it  ended. 

5  From  to  diej]  i.  e  from  death.  A  very  elegant  Grecism  ; 
<«ro  T»  0avs»v :  and  which  our  poets  have  employed  in  our 
language  with  singular  strength  and  beauty.  Thus  Spenser  : 

"  Be  sure  that  nought  may  save  theeyrom  to  <#e."    WHAL. 

The  Grecism  is,  as  Whalley  says,  very  elegant ;  in  our 
language  the  expression  is  a  mere  barbarism,  feeble,  ungraceful, 
and  ungrammatical. 


[  113] 


We  have  now  reached  the  scene  of  contention  between 
our  poet  and  Inigo  Jones.  Till  this  period,  they  appear  to 
have  lived  in  sufficient  harmony.  The  writer  of  Jones's  life, 
in  the  Biographia  Britannica,  says,  that  the  quarrel  broke 
out  soon  after  1609,  and  continued  to  the  death  of  Jonson ; 
this  is  the  eternal  echo :  and  I  am  weary  of  repeating  that 
it  is  utterly  false  and  groundless.  The  first  symptoms  of  dig. 
affection,  on  the  poet's  side,  appear  in  the  Tale  of  a  Tub, 
written  in  16S3,  and  from  the  language  there  used,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  quarrel  originated  not  with  him, 
but  his  associate. 

If  the  reader  has  looked  through  these  Masques,  he  must 
have  noticed  the  friendly  solicitude  of  Jonson  to  put  forward 
the  talents  of  this  man  :  this  was  the  more  important,  as  the 
first  attempts  of  Jones  had  been  somewhat  unsuccessful.  In 
1605-G,he  was  employed  on  a  Masque,  prepared  for  the  king's 
entertainment,  at  Oxford.  "  The  machinery  and  stages," 
(says  my  author)  "  were  chiefly  constructed  by  one  Mr.  Jones, 
a  great  traveller,  who  undertook  to  furnish  them  with  rare 
devices,  but  performed  very  little  to  what  was  expected." 
Lei.  Col.  vol.  ii.  C46.  He  was  not  more  fortunate  at  Cam- 
bridge, where  he  was  employed  on  the  machinery  for  the 
representation  of  Ajax.  Till  the  death  of  prince  Henry,  then, 
in  1612,  nothing  but  kindness  appears  on  the  part  of  Jonson. 
In  that  year,  or  the  next,  Jones  went  abroad,  and  pursued 
his  studies  in  Italy  for  several  years;  yet  Jon-on  is  ridicu- 
lously charged  with  attacking  him  in  Bartholomew  Fair, 
which  was  brought  out  in  1614.  No  mention  of  his  name 
occurs  in  any  part  of  our  poet's  works,  (though  the  Master 
of  the  Revels  says  he  was  employed  in  the  Prince's  .'.aaque,} 
till  16-25,  when  he  joined  in  the  production  of  Pan's  ^Inni- 
versary.  Another  interval  of  five  years  took  place,  before 
he  was  called  upon  again,  when,  as  Jonson  says,  they  met 
by  the  king's  command,  and  consulted  together  on  the  con- 
struction of  Love's  Triumph,  and  Chloridia.  During  this 
long  period,  not  a  murmur  of  discontent  appears  to  have 
escaped  Jonson.  Why  then  is  it  taken  tor  granted  that  the 
quarrel  which  followed  the  exhibition  of  the  last  piece,  origi- 
nated solely  with  him  ?  E\en  in  the  description  of  the 
scenery,  which  evidently  proceeded  from  Jonspq,  there  is  a 
visible  anxiety  to  recommend  it  to  favour. 

VOL.  VIII.  I 


But  what,  after  all,  occasioned  the  breach  ?  Dr.  Aikin,  in 
that  worthless  compilation,  the  General  Biography,  is  pleased 
to  insinuate  that  it  arose  from  our  author's  envy  of  Inigo's 
poetry  !  The  only  poetry,  I  believe,  of  which  the  architect 
was  ever  known  to  be  guilty,  is  a  little,  piece  of  five  stanzas, 
written  in  1610,  and  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of  Coryafs 
Crudities.  I  will  subjoin  the  best  of  them,  that  the  reader 
may  form  some  idea  of  the  transcendent  excellence  of  those 
verses  which  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  Jonson  for  more 
than  twenty  years  ! 

"  Enough  of  this  ;  all  pens  in  ibis  doe  travell 

To  track  thy  steps,  who,  Proteus  like,  dost  varie 
Thy  shape  to  place,  the  home-borne  muse  to  gravell, 

For  though  in  Venice  thou  not  long  didst  tarie, 
Yet  thou  the  Italian  soul  so  soone  couldst  steale, 
As  in  that  time  thou  eat'st  but  one  good  rneale." 

It  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that  Chloridia  was  not  so 
well  received  as  Love's  Triumph.  Ben's  share  in  it,  as  a 
poet,  was  not  very  important,  nor,  to  say  the  truth,  very 
remarkable  either  for  harmony  or  expression.  In  the  con- 
struction of  the  fable,  both  took  part  alike  ;  but  Inigo  chose 
to  fasten  on  the  verse,  and  to  attribute  their  want  of  success 
solely  to  its  demerits,  while  he  arrogated  to  himself  a  more 
than  ordinary  portion  of  applause  for  his  skill  in  painting  the 
scenery.  He  had  a  fair  field  before  him  :  he  was  rich  and 
popular ;  his  associate  was  sick,  confined  to  "  the  bed  and 
boards,"  and  in  want  of  every  thing.  Jones  was,  besides,  as  vain 
as  Jonson  was  proud ;  as  arrogant  as  Jonson  was  overbearing ; 
he  was  also  extremely  petulant.  Pennant  claims  him  for  a 
countryman  on  the  strength  of  his  "  violent  passions  ;"*  and 
we  know,  from  the  charges  carried  up  by  the  Commons  to 
the  House  of  Lords  against  him,  that  his  language  was  of  the 
most  insolent  kind.  Jonson,  however,  bore  it  for  two  years, 
when  he  wrote,  in  1633,  the  ridiculous  Motion  of  Squire 
Tub  of  Totten ;  and,  as  this  perhaps  did  not  silence  his  ad- 
versary, two  years  afterwards  he  drew  up,  and  handed 
about,  in  private,  the  verses  which  Whalley  reprinted  among 
the  Epigrams.  To  prevent  the  necessity  of  recurring  to 
this  disagreeable  subject,  I  shall  give  them  here. 

*  Tour  in  Waks^  vol.  ii.  p.  150. 


The  first  notice  of  them  appears  in  HoweFs  Letters. 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  last  regalo  you  gave  me  at  your 
Museum,  and  for  the  good  company.  I  heard  you  censured * 
lately  at  court,  that  you  have  lighted  too  foul  upon  sir  Inigo, 
and  that  you  write  with  a  porcupine's  quill,  dipt  in  too  much 
gall :  excuse  me  that  I  am  so  free  with  you,  it  is  because  I 
am  in  no  common  way  of  friendship, 

Your's,  &c. 
May  3,  Ifj35.  J.  H." 

This  letter,  which  is  directed  "  to  his  honoured  friend 
and  father,  M.  Ben  Johnson,"  having  failed  of  effect,  he 
wrote  a  second,  bearing  date  July  5,  1635,  in  which  he  re- 
peats his  allusion  to  the  porcupine's  quill,  and,  after  depre- 
cating the  asperity  of  the  satire  on  the  "  royal  architect," 
concludes  thus  :  "  If  your  spirit  will  not  let  you  retract,  yet 
you  shall  do  well  to  repress  any  more  copies  of  the  satire ; 
for  to  deal  plainly  with  you,  you  have  lost  some  ground  at 
court  by  it ;  and  as  I  hear  from  a  good  hand,  the  King,  who 
hath  so  great  a  judgment  in  poetry,  (as  in  all  other  things 
else)  is  not  well  pleased  therewith.  Dispense  with  this. 
Your  respectful  son  and  servitor." 

J.  H." 

In  consequence,  perhaps,  of  this  remonstrance,  Jonson 
recalled,  and  destroyed  every  copy  (as  he  probably  thought,) 
of  his  satire,  for  not  a  line  of  it  was  found  among  his  papers : 
but  there  is  in  some  minds  a  perverse  passion  for  perpetuating 
the  memory  of  enmities,  which  no  sense  of  propriety  can  sub- 
due. A  copy,  most  probably  secreted  by  a  person  of  this 
description,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Vertue,  who  commu- 
nicated it,  as  a  great  favour,  to  Whalley,  by  whom  it  was 
sent  to  the  press.  Thus,  in  despite  of  the  author,  this 
wretched  squabble  has  reached  posterity. 

*  /  heard  you  censured  lately  at  court,}  It  might  be  so  ;  but 
the  validity  of  the  assertion  depends  upon  the  character  of 
Howel's  informer,  a  good  hand,  as  he  calls  him  just  below.  One 
thing,  however,  is  certain,  that  the  king  had  listened,  some  time 
before,  and,  as  far  as  appears,  without  displeasure,  to  an  attack 
upon  Inigo  (Coronel  Vitruvius)  in  a  masque  prepared  solely  for 
his  entertainment,  and  presented  by  one  who  would,  on  no 
account,  have  hazarded  a  word  that  was  likely  to  give  him 
offence.  See  p.  142. 

I  2 


AN   EXPOSTULATION 

WITH  INIGO  JONES. 

Master  Surveyor,  you  that  first  began 
From  thirty  pounds  in  pipkins,  to  the  man 
You  are :  from  them  leap'd  forth  an  architect, 
Able  to  talk  of  Euclid,  and  correct 
Both  him  and  Archimede;  damn  Archytas, 
The  noblest  inginer  that  ever  was  : 
Control  Ctesibius,  overbearing  us 
With  mistook  names,  out  of  Vitruvius  ; 
Drawn  Aristotle  on  us,  and  thence  shewn 
How  much  Architectonice  is  your  own: 
Whether  the  building  of  the  stage,  or  scene, 
Or  making  of  the  properties  it  mean, 
Vizors,  or  antics  ;  or  it  comprehend 
Something  your  sur-ship  doth  not  yet  intend. 

1  An  Expostulation,']  That  some  part  of  this  may  have  pro. 
ceeded  from  Jonson  I  am  not  prepared  to  question  ;  but  it  has 
assuredly  been  much  corrupted  or  interpolated.  The  fifth  line 
could  not  be  written  by  our  poet,  who  was  much  too  good  a 
judge  of  accent  to  give  this  for  a  verse 

*  With  mistook  names,  &c.]  A  Mr.  Webb,  remotely  related  to 
Jones,  published  some  account  of  him,  in  imitation,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  of  sir  Thomas  Urquhart's  Life  of  the  Admirable  Crichton. 
In  this  ridiculous  rhapsody  we  are  told,  that  "  Mr.  Jones  was  not 
only  proclaimed  by  public  acclamation  the  Vitruvius  of  England, 
hut  of  all  Christendom;  that  his  abilities  in  all  human  sciences, 
surpassed  most  of  his  age ;  that  he  was  a  perfect  ma>«er  of  the 
mathematics,  and  had  some  insight  into  the  two  K-arned  lan- 
guages," &c  &c.  The  fact  is,  that  he  knew  scarcely  «ui)  thing 
of  either.  He  was  a  good  scene  painter,  a  better  machinist, 
and  an  incomparable  architect.  I  give  Jonson  full  credit  for 
what  he  says  of  his  antagonist's  mistakes. 


AN   EXPOSTULATION.        117 

By  all  your  titles,  and  whole  style  at  once, 

Of  tireman,  mountebank,  and  justice  Jones, 

I  do  salute  you:  are  you  fitted  yet? 

Will  any  of  these  express  your  place,  or  wit  ? 

Or  are  you  so  ambitious  'bove  your  peers, 

You'd  be  an  Assinii^o  by  your  ears  ? 

Why  much  good  do't  you ;  be  what  part  you  will, 

You'll  be,  as  Langley  said,  <c  an  Inigo  still." 

What  makes  your  wretchedness  to  bray  so  loud 

In  town  and  court?  are    you  grown  rich,  and 

proud  ? 
Your  trappings   will  not  change  you,   change 

your  mind ; 

No  velvet  suit  you  wear  will  alter  kind. 
A  wooden  dagger  is  a  dagger  of  wood, 
Nor  gold,  nor  ivory  haft  can  make  it  good. 
What  is  the  cause  you  pomp  it  so,  I  ask  ? 
And  all  men  echo,  you  have  made  a  masque. 
I  chime  that  too,  and  I  have  met  with  those 
That  do  cry  up  the  machine,  and  the  shows ; 
The  majesty  of  Juno  in  the  clouds, 
And  peering  forth  of  Iris  in  the  shrouds  ; 
The  ascent  of  lady  Fame,  which  none  could  spy, 
Not  they  that  sided  her,  dame  Poetry,* 
Dame  History,  dame  Architecture  too, 
And  goody  Sculpture,  brought  with  much  ado 
To  hold  her  up:  O  shows,  shows,  mighty  shows  ! 
The  eloquence  of  masques!  what  need  of  prose, 
Or  verse,  or  prose,  t'express  immortal  you? 
You  are  the  spectacles  of  state,  'tis  true, 

3   Th'  ascent  of  lady  Fame,  which  none  could  spy, 

Not  they  that  sided  her,  dame  Poetry.']  This  alludes  to  the 
scenery  and  decorations  of  Chloridia.  As  these  were  the  Sur- 
veyor's province,  it  is  possible  those  here  referred  to  were  so 
injudiciously  contrived  or  ordered,  as  to  occasion  the  sarcasms 
of  our  poet.  WHAT,. 


118       AN    EXPOSTULATION 

Court-hieroglyphics,  and  all  arts  afford, 
In  the  mere  perspective  of  an  inch-board  ; 
You  ask  no  more  than  certain  politic  eyes, 
Eyes,  that  can  pierce  into  the  mysteries 
Of  many  colours,  read  them,  and  reveal 
Mythology,  there  painted  on  slit  deal. 
Or  to  make  boards  to  speak  !  there  is  a  task  ! 
Painting  and  carpentry  are  the  soul  of  masque. 
Pack  with  your  pedling  poetry  to  the  stage, 
This  is  the  money-got,  mechanic  age. 
To  plant  the  music  where  no  ear  can  reach, 
Attire  the  persons,  as  no  thought  can  teach 
Sense,  what  they  are  ;  which  by  a  specious,  fine 
Term  of  [you]  architects,  is  call'd  Design ; 
But  in  the  practised  truth,  destruction  is 
Of  any  art,  beside  \vhat  he  calls  his. 
Whither,  O  whither  will  this  tireman  grow? 
His  name  is  ^VOTTOIOJ,  we  all  know, 
The  maker  of  the  properties  ;  in  sum, 
The  scene,  the  engine  ;  but  he  now  is  come 
To  be  the  music-master ;  tabler  too  ; 
He  is,  or  would  be,  the  main  Doaninus  Do- 
Allof  the  work,4  and  so  shall  still  for  Ben, 
Be  Inigo,  the  whistle,  and  his  men. 
He's  warm  on  his  feet,  now  he  says  ;  and  can 
Swim  without  cork :  why,  thank  the  good  queen 
Anne.5 

4  He  z*,  or  would  be  the  main  Dominus  Do- 

All  of  the  aiorA:.]  This  is  no  forced  description  of  Inigo's 
manner.  In  the  Declaration  of  the  Commons,  already  noticed, 
in  behalf  of  the  parishioners  of  St.  Gregory,  they  complain  that 
*'  the  said  Inigo  Jones  would  not  undertake  the  work  (of  re- 
edifying  the  church)  unless  he  might  be,  as  he  termed  it,  sole 
monarch,  or  might  have  the  principality  thereof,"  &c.  What  fol- 
lows is  still  more  offensive. 

5  Why^  thank  the  good  queen  Anne.]  Consort  to  James  I.  who 
appointed  Inigo  Joaes  her  architect.      WHAL. 


WITH   INIGO   JONES.         US- 

I  am  too  fat  to  envy,  he  too  lean 

To  be  worth  envy ;  henceforth  I  do  mean 

To  pity  him,  as  smiling  at  his  feat 

Of  lantern-lerry,  with  fuliginous  heat 

Whirling  his  whimsies,  by  a  subtilty 

Suck'd  from  the  veins  of  shop-philosophy. 

What  would  he  do  now,  giving  his  mind  that  way, 

In  presentation  of  some  puppet-play, 

Shou'd  but  the  king  his  justice-hood  employ, 

In  setting  forth  of  such  a  solemn  toy  ? 

How  wou'd  he  firk,  like  Adam  Overdo,* 

Up  and  about ;  dive  into  cellars  too, 

Disguised,  and  thence  drag  forth  Enormity, 

Discover  Vice,  commit  Absurdity  : 

Under  the  moral,  shew  he  had  a  pate 

Moulded  or  strok'd  up  to  survey  a  state  ! 

O  wise  surveyor,  wiser  architect, 

But  wisest  Inigo  ;  who  can  reflect 

On  the  new  priming  of  thy  old  sign-posts, 

Reviving  with  fresh  colours  the  pale  ghosts 

Of  thy  dead  standards  ;  or  with  marvel  see 

Thy  twice  conceived,  thrice  paid  for  imagery; 

And  not  fall  down  before  it,  and  confess 

Almighty  Architecture,  who  no  less 

A  goddess  is,  than  painted  cloth,  deal  board, 

Vermillion,  lake,  or  crimson  can  afford 

Expression  for  ;  with  that  unbounded  line, 

Aim'd  at  in  thy  omnipotent  design  ! 

6  How  wou'd  he  firk,  like  Adam  Overdo, 

Up  and  about,  &c.J  This  line  is  of  some  importance,  in  as 
much  as  it  quite  destroys  the  established  opinion  that  Lantern 
Leatherhead  was  meant  for  Inigo  Jones.  "  Old  Ben,''  as  Mr. 
Malone  truly  observes,  "  generally  spoke  out,"  and  he  was, 
here,  sufficiently  angry  to  identify  him  with  that  character,  to 
which  not  only  his  allusion  to  Bartholomew  .Fair,  but  his  men- 
tion of  a  puppet  play,  directly  led :  and  we  may  confidently 
assure  ourselves  that  he  would  hare  done  it,  had,  what  he  is  so 
often  charged  with,  been  ever  in  his  contemplation. 


120  EPIGRAM   ON 

What  poesy  e'er  was  painted  on  a  wall, 

That  might  compare  with  thee  ?  what  story  shall, 

Of  all  the  worthies,  hope  t'  outlast  thy  own, 

So  the  materials  he  of  Purbeck  stone? 

Live  long  the  feasting-room  '  and  ere  thou  hum 

Again,  thy  architect  to  ashes  turn  ; 

Whom  not  ten  fires,  nor  a  parliament,  can 

With  all  remonstrance,  make  an  honest  man/ 


To  A  FRIEND. 
An  Epigram  of  Inigo  Jones. 

Sir  Inigo  doth  fear  it,  as  I  hear,1 

And  lahours  to  seem  worthy  of  this  fear  ; 

7  Whom  not  tenjftres^  nor  a  parliament,  can 

With  all  remonstrance,  make  an  honest  man.~\  Jones,  by 
some  arbitrary  proceedings,  had  subjected  himself  to  the  censures 
of  parliament ;  and  this  seems  to  refer  to  the  affair  between  him 
and  the  parishioners  of  St.  Gregory  in  London.  In  order  to 
execute  his  design  of  repairing  St.  Paul's  cathedral,  he  demo- 
lished part  of  the  church  of  St.  Gregory  adjoining  to  it ;  upon 
which  the  parishioners  presented  a  Remonstrance  to  the  par- 
liament against  him  :  but  that  affair  did  not  come  to  an  issue, 
till  some  time  after  the  writing  of  this  satire.  WHAL. 

The  question  is,  when  it  began.  The  Remonstrance  \vas  not 
eren  presented  to  Parliament  till  three  years  after  Jonson's 
death,  and  could  scarcely  have  been  in  contemplation  at  the 
date  of  this  satire,  1635.  There  are  many  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  those  who  make  Jonson  the  author  of  the  whole  of  this  piece. 

1  Sir  Inigo  doth  fear  it,  &c.]  This  is  undoubtedly  Jonson's, 
and  this  seems  to  shew  that  nothing  had  been  hitherto  written 
against  Jones.  The  learned  writers  of  the  Biographia  Britan- 
nica,  in  their  zeal  to  criminate  Jonson,  strangely  mistake  the 
sense  of  the  ninth  line, 

"  If  thou  art  so  desirous  to  be  read," 

"  which,"  they  say,  "  alludes  to  some  attempt  of  the  architect 
in  the  poetical  way,"  whereas,  it  merely  means,  if  you  are  so 
desirous  to  be  noticed,  hope  not  for  it  from  me  \  but,  &c. 


INIGO  JONES.  121 

That  I  should  write  upon  him  some  sharp  verse, 
Able  to  eat  into  his  bones,  and  pierce 
The  marrow.   Wretch  !    I  quit  thee  of  thy  pain, 
Thou'rt  too  ambitious,  and  dost  fear  in  vain  : 
The  Lybian  lion  hunts  no  butterflies  ; 
He  makes  the  camel  and  dull  ass  his  prize. 
If  thou  be  so  desirous  to  be  read, 
Seek  out  some  hungry  painter,  that,  for  bread, 
With  rotten  chalk  or  coal,  upon  the  wall, 
Will  well  design  thee  to  be  view'd  of  all, 
That  sit  upon  the  common  draught  or  strand  ; 
Thy  forehead  is  too  narrow  for  my  brand. 


To  INIGO  MARQUIS  WOULD-BE. 


But  'cause  thou  hear'stthe  mighty  kingof  Spain 
Hath  made  his  Inigo  marquis,  would'st  thou  fain 
Our  Charles  should  make  thee  such  ?  'twill  not 

become 

All  kings  to  do  the  self-same  deeds  with  some : 
Besides,  his  man  may  merit  it,  and  be 
A  noble  honest  soul :  what's  this  to  thee  ? 
He  may  have  skill,  and  judgment  to  design 
Cities  and  temples,  thou  a  cave  for  wine, 
Or  ale ;  he  build  a  palace,  thou  the  shop, 
With  sliding  windows,  and  false  lights  a-top : 
He  draw  a  forum  with  quadrivial  streets; 
Thou  paint  a  lane  where  Tom  Thumb  Jeffrey 

meets.* 

He  some  Colussus,  to  bestride  the  seas, 
From  the  fam'd  pillars  of  old  Hercules  : 
Thy  canvas  giant  at  some  channel  aims, 
Or  Dowgate  torrents  falling  into  Thames ; 

a  Thou  paint  a  lane^  &c.]    i.  e.  just  wide  enough  to  allow  of 
the  meeting  of  Tom  Thumb  and  Jeffrey  Hudson. 


122  EPIGRAM,  Sec. 

And  stradling  shews  the  boys'  brown  paper  fleet 
Yearly  set  out  there,  to  sail  down  the  street : 
Your  works  thus  differing,  much  less  so  your 

style, 

Content  thee  to  be  Pancridge  earl  the  while,3 
An  earl  of  show ;  for  all  thy  worth  is  show  : 
But  when  thou  turn'st  a  real  Inigo, 
Or  canst  of  truth  the  least  entrenchment  pitch, 
We'll  have  thee  styled  the  Marquis  of  Tower- 
ditch. 

3  Content  thee  to  be  Pancridge  earl  the  while,']  i.  e.  one  of  the 
"Worthies"  who  annually  rode  to  Mile  End,  or  the  Artillery 
Ground,  in  the  ridiculous  procession  called  Arthur's  Shew.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  Inigo  Jones  really  aspired  to 
the  elevation  mentioned  in  the  first  couplet.  Sir  Frances  Kin. 
aston,  (the  translator  of  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Cressiua,  into 
Latin,)  in  his  Cynthiades,  1642,  says* 

**  Meantime  imagine  that  Newcastle  coles, 

Which,  as  sir  Inigo  saith,  have  perisht  Paules, 

And  by  the  skill  of  Marquis  Would-be  Jones, 

'Tis  found  the  smockes  salt  did  corrupt  the  stones." 

Other  notices  of  this  might  be  produced  :— but  enough,  and 
more  than  enough,  has  been  said  of  this  foolish  quarrel,  little 
honourable  to  either  party,  and  which,  now  that  Jonson  ap- 
pears not  to  have  been  the  aggressor,  not  to  have  sought  "  every 
occasion  of  injury,"  not  to  have  lived  in  "  constant  hostility,"  &c. 
may  be  dismissed  without  much  regret  to  the  oblivion  from 
which  it  was  dragged  by  the  misdirected  industry  of  my  pre- 
decessor. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME. 

THE 

KING'S  ENTERTAINMENT 

AT 

WELBECK,  IN  NOTTINGHAMSHIRE, 

A  House  of  the  Right  Honourable  WILLIAM, 
Earl  of  Newcastle,  Viscount  Mansfield,  Baron 
of  Botle  and  Bolsover,  &c. 

At  his  going  into  Scotland,  1633. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME  (or,  as  it  is  called  in  the  folio,  The 
KING'S  ENTERTAINMENT,  &c.)]  In  the  spring  of  1633,  Charles, 
in  an  interval  of  tranquillity,  resolved  to  make  a  progress  into 
the  northern  part  of  his  kingdom,  and  to  be  solemnly  crowned 
in  Scotland,  which  he  had  not  seen  since  he  was  two  years  old. 
His  journey  was  a  perpetaal  triumph,  the  great  families  of  the 
counties  through  which  he  passed  feasting  him  on  his  way. 
None  of  the  nobility  and  gentry,  however,  seem  to  have  equalled 
the  earl  of  Newcastle  in  the  magnificence  of  their  hospitality. 
lt  When  he  passed  (says  lord  Clarendon)  through  Nottingham- 
shire, both  the  King  and  Court  were  received  and  entertained 
by  the  earl  of  Newcastle,  and  at  his  own  proper  expense,  in 
such  a  wonderful  manner  and  in  such  an  excess  of  feasting  as 
had  scarce  ever  before  been  known  in  England  ;  and  would  be 
still  thought  very  prodigious,  if  the  same  noble  person  had  not, 
within  a  year  or  two  afterwards,  made  the  King  and  Queen  a 
more  stupendous  Entertainment;  which,  God  be  thanked, 
though  possibly  it  might  too  much  whet  the  appetite  of  others 
to  excess,  no  man  ever  after  imitated."  Hist,  of  the  Rebellion. 
The  duchess,  ID  the  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle^  speaks  of  it 
modestly  enough.  "  When  his  majesty  (her  Grace  says)  was 
going  into  Scotland  to  be  crowned,  he  took  his  way  through 
Nottinghamshire  ;  and  lying  at  Worksep  ntanor,  hardly  two 
miles  distant  from  Welbeck  where  my  lord  then  was,  my  lord 
invited  his  Majesty  thither  to  dinner,  which  he  was  graciously 
pleased  to  accept  of.  This  entertainment  cost  my  lord  between 
four  and  five  thousand  pounds."  p.  183. 

On  this  occasion  our  poet  was  called  on,  to  prepare  one  of 
those  little  compliments,  which,  in  those  days,  were  supposed 
to  grace,  and,  as  it  were,  vivify  the  feast.  The  object  was  merely 
to  introduce,  in  a  kind  of  Antimasque,  a  course  at  Quintain, 
performed  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  county,  neighbours  to  this 
great  earl,  in  the  guise  of. rustics,  in  which  much  awkwardness 
was  affected,  and  much  real  dexterity  probably  shewn.  Whatever 
it  was,  however,  it  afforded  considerable  amusement  to  the  king 
and  his  attendants;  a  fact  recorded  by  the  duchess  with  no 
little  complacency  in  the  memoirs  of  her  family. 

This  Entertainment,  with  that  which  immediately  follows  it, 
is  shuffled  in  among  the  translations,  towards  the  close  of  the 
folio,  1641.  It  is  evidently  given  in  a  very  imperfect  manner  ; 
but  there  is  no  oAher  copy. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME,  &c. 


His  Majesty  being  set  at  Dinner, 

Music  : 

The  Passions,  DOUBT  and  LOVE,  enter  with  the 
Affections,  JOY,  DELIGHT,  $c.  and  sing  this 

SONG. 

Doubt.  What  softer  sounds  are  these  salute  the 

ear, 

From  the  large  circle  of  the  hemisphere, 
As  if  the  centre  of  all  sweets  met  here  ! 

Love.  It  is  the  breath  and  soul  of  every  thing, 
Put  forth  by  earth,  by  nature,  and  the  spring, 
To  speak  the  welcome,  welcome  of  the  king. 

Chorus  of  Affections.  The  joy  of  plants,  the  spirit 

of  flowers, 

The  smell  and  verdure  of  the  bowers, 
The  waters  murmur,  with  the  showers, 
Distilling  on  the  new  fresh  hours  ; 
The  whistling  winds  and  birds  that  sing 
The  welcome  of  our  great,  good  king : 
Welcome,  O  welcome,  is  the  general  voice, 
Wherein  all  creatures  practise  to  rejoice. 

[A  pause.     Music  again. 


126  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

Love.  When  was    old    Sherwood's    head   more 

quaintly  curVd  ? 

Or  looked  the  earth  more  green  upon  the  world  ? 
Or  nature' 's  cradle  more  enchased  and  purVd  f 
When  did  the  air  so  smile,  the  wind  so  chime,  \ 
As  quiristers  of  season,  and  the  prime? 

Doubt.  If  what  they  do,  be  done  in  their  due  time. 

Cho.  of  Affections.  He  makes  the  time  for  whom 
'tis  done, 

From  whom  the  warmth,  heat,  life  begun  ; 

Into  whose  fostering  arms  do  run 

All  that  have  being  from  the  sun. 

Such  is  the  fount  of  light,  the  king, 

The  heart  that  quickens  every  thing, 
And  makes  the  creatures  language  all  one  voice. 
In  welcome,  welcome,  welcome  to  rejoice  : 
Welcome  is  all  our  song,  is  all  our  sound. 
The  treble  part,  the  tenor,  and  the  ground. 


After  Dinner. 

The  King  and  the  Lords  being  come  down,  and  ready 
to  take  horse,  in  the  crowd  were  discovered  two  no- 
torious persons,  whose  names  were  ACCIDENCE  and 
FITZALE,  men  of  business,  as  by  their,  eminent  dress- 
ing and  habits  did  soon  appear. 

One  in  a  costly  cassock  of  black  buckram  girt  unto 
him,  whereon  was  painted  party-per  pale : 

On  the  one  side,  On  the  other  side, 

Noun,        "i  Adverb,         ^ 

Pronoun,    f  ,    ,.     ,  Conjunction^  f       ,    ,.     , 

J7    ,  -declined.          v    ,     -,-       \undedmed. 

Verb,          i  Preposition, 

Participle,}  Interjection, 


AT  WELBECK.  127 

With  his  hat,  hatband,  stocking,  and  sandals  suited, 
and  marked  A,  J5,  C,  fyc. 

The  other  in  a  taberd,  or  herald's  coat,  of  azure 
and  gules  quarterly  changed,  of  buckram  ;  limned 
with  yellow,  instead  of  gold,  and  pasted  over  with 
old  records  of  the  two  shires,  and  certain  fragments 
of  the  forest,  as  a  coat  of  antiquity  and  president, 
willing  to  be  seen,  but  hard  to  be  read,  and  as  loth  to 
be  understood,  without  the  interpreter  who  wore  it  : 
for  the  wrong  end  of  the  letters  were  turned  upwardt 
therefore  was  a  label  Ji.ved,  To  the  curious  prier, 
advertising : 

& 

Look  not  so  near,  with  hope  to  understand  ; 
Out-cept,  sir,  you  can  read  with  the  left-hand. 

Acci.  By  your  fair  leave,  gentlemen  of  the 
court;  for  leave  is  ever  fair,  being  asked  ;  and 
granted,  is  as  light,  according  to  our  English 
proverb,  Leave  is  light.  Which  is  the  king,  I  pray 
you? 

Fitz.  Or  rather  the  king's  lieutenant?  for  we 
have  nothing  to  say  to  the  king,  till  we  have 
spoken  with  my  lord  lieutenant. 

Acci.  Of  Nottinghamshire. 

Fits.  And  Derbyshire,  for  he  is  both.  And  we 
have  business  to  both  sides  of  him,  from  either 
of  the  counties. 

Acci.  As  far  as  his  command  stretches. 

Fitz.  Is  this  he  ? 

Acci.  This  is  no  great-man  by  his  timber,  as 
we  say  in  the  forest ;  by  his  thewes  he  may.1  I'll 
venture  a  part  of  speech,  two  or  three  at  him,  to 
see  how  he  is  declined. — My  lord,  pleaseth  your 

1  by  his  thewes  he  may.']  i.  e.  by  his  manners,  accomplish, 
ments.  Shakspeare,  in  Henry  IV.  "  Care  I  for  the  thewes,"  &c. 
seems  to  use  it  in  the  sense  of  sinews,  which,  after  all,  may 
Jbc  the  genuine  word. 


128  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

good  lordship,  I  am  a  poor  neighbour,  here,  of 
your  honour's,  in  the  country. 

Fitz.  Master  A.  B.  C.  Accidence,  my  good 
lord,  school-master  of  Mansfield,  the  painful  in- 
structor of  our  youth  in  their  country  elements, 
as  appeareth  by  the  sign  of  correction  in  his  hat, 
with  the  trust  of  the  town  pen-and-inkhorn, 
committed  to  the  surety  of  his  girdle,  from  the 
whole  corporation. 

Acci.  This  is  the  more  remarkable  man,  my 
very  good  lord ;  father  Fitz- Ale,  herald  of  Derby, 
light  and  Ian  thorn  of  both  counties  ;  the  learned 
antiquary  of  the  north  ;  conserver  of  the  records 
of  either  forest,  as  witnesseth  the  brief  taberd, 
or  coat-armour  he  carries,  being  an  industrious 
collection  of  all  the  written  or  reported  wonders 
of  the  Peak. 

Saint  Anne  of  Buxton's  boiling  well, 

Or  Elden,  bottomless,  like  hell : 

Poole's  Hole,  or  Satan's  sumptuous  Arse. 

(Surreverence)  with  the  mine-men's  farce. 

Such  a  light  and  metall'd  dance 

Saw  you  never  yet  in  France. 

And  by  lead-men  for  the  nones, 

That  turn  round  like  grindlestones  ; 

Which  they  dig  out  fro'  the  dells, 

For  their  bairns'  bread,  wives  and  sells  : 

Whom  the  whetstone  sharps  to  eat, 

And  cry  milstones  are  good  meat. 

He  can  fly  o'er  hills  and  dales, 

And  report  you  more  odd  tales 

Of  our  outlaw  Robin  Hood, 

That  revell'd  here  in  Sherewood, 

And  more  stories  of  him  show, 

(Though  he  ne'er  shot  in  his  bow) 

Than  men  or  believe,  or  know. 


AT  WELBECK.  129 


Fitse.  Stint,  stint  your  court, 
Grow  to  be  short, 
Throw  by  your  clatter, 
And  handle  the  matter  : 

We  come  with  our  peers, 
And  crave  your  ears, 
To  present  a  wedding, 
Intended  a  bedding, 

Of  both  the  shires. 
Father  Fitz-Ale 
Hath  a  daughter  stale 
In  Derby  town, 
Known  up  and  down 

For  a  great  antiquity  : 
And  Pem  she  hight, 
A  solemn  wight 
As  you  should  meqt 
In  any  street, 

In  that  ubiquity. 
Her  he  hath  brought, 
As  having  sought 
By  many  a  draught 
Of  ale  and  craft, 
With  skill  to  graft 
In  some  old  stock 
Of  the  yeoman  block, 
And  forest-blood 
Of  old  Sherewood. 
And  he  hath  found 
Within  the'ground, 
At  last  no  shrimp, 
Whereon  to  imp 
His  jolly  club, 
But  a  bold  Stub 
O'  the  right  wood, 
A  champion  good  ; 

VOL.  VIII.  K 


130  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

Who  here  in  place 
Presents  himself, 
Like  doughty  elf 

Of  Greenwood  chase. 

Here  STUB  the  bridegroom  presented  himself,  being 

apparelled  in  a  yellow  canvas  doublet,  cut,  a  green 

jerkin  and  hose,  like  a  ranger  ;  a  Monmouth  cap, 

with  a  yellow  feather,  yellow  stockings  and  shoes; 

for  being  to  dance,  he  would  not  trouble  himself 

with  boots. 

Fitz.  Stub  of  Stub-hall, 
Some  do  him  call ; 
But  most  do  say, 
He's  Stub  will  stay 
To  run  his  race, 
Not  run  away. 
Acci.  At  Quintain  he, 
In  honour  of  this  bridal  tee, 
Hath  challeng'd  either  wide  countee ; 
Come  Cut  and  Long-tail :  for  there  be 
Six  bachelors  as  bold  as  he, 
Adjuting  to  his  companee, 
And  each  one  hath  his  livery. 
Fits.     Six  Hoods  they  are,  and  of  the  blood, 
They  tell  of  ancient  Robin  Hood. 

Enter  RED-HOOD. 

Red-hood,  the  first  that  doth  appear 
In  stamel.* 
Acci.  Scarlet  is  too  dear. 

a  Red.hood,  thejirst  that  doth  appear 

In  stamcl.]  i.  e.  a  kind  of  red,  inferior  both  in  quality  and 
price  to  scarlet.    Thus  Fletcher  : 


AT  WELBECK.  131 

Enter  GREEN-HOOD. 

Fits.     Then  Green-hood. 
Acci.     He's  in  Kendal-green,-. 

As  in  the  forest-colour  seen. 

Enter  BLUE-HOOD. 

Fitz.     Next  Blue-hood  is,  and  in  that  hue 
Doth  vaunt  a  heart  as  pure  and  true 
As  is  the  sky ;  give  him  his  due. 

Acci.     Of  old  England  the  yeoman  blue. 
Enter  TAWNY-HOOD. 

Fitz.    Then  Tawny  fra'  the  kirk  that  came. 
Acci.     And  cleped  was  the  abbot's  man. 

Enter  MOTLEY-HOOD. 
Fitz.     With  Motley-hood,  the  man  of  law. 
Enter  RUSSET-HOOD. 

Acci.     And  Russet-hood  keeps  all  in  awe. 
Bold  bachelors  they  are,  and  large, 
And  come  in  at  the  country  charge  ; 
Horse,  bridles,  saddles,  stirrups,  girts, 
All  reckon'd  o'  the  country  skirts  ! 

**  To  see  a  handsome,  young,  fair  enough,  and  well-mounted 

wench 
Humble  herself  in  an  old  stamel  petticoat." 

Woman  Hater ,  Act.  IV.  Scene  2. 

And  our  author,  a  little  after,  describes  the  bride-maids  drest 
in  stamel  petticoats,  after  the  cleanliest  country  guise.     WHAL. 


132  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

And  all  their  courses,  miss  or  hit, 
Intended  are  for  the  shire- wit, 
And  so  to  be  received.  Their  game 
Is  country  sport,  and  hath  a  name 
From  the  place  that  bears  the  cost, 
Else  all  the  fat  i'  the  fire  were  lost. 
Go,  captain  Stub,  lead  on,  and  show 
What  house  you  come  on  by  the  blow 
You  give  sir  Quintain,  and  the  cuff 
You  scape  o'  the  sand-bag's  counterbuff.3 

[Flourish. 

STUB'S  COURSE. 

Acci.     O  well  run,  yeoman  Stub ! 

Thou  hast  knock'd  it  like  a  club, 

And  made  sir  Quintain  know, 
By  this  his  race  so  good, 
He  himself  is  also  wood, 

As  by  his  furious  blow.  [Flourish. 

RED-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Fitz.     Bravely  run,  Red-hood, 
There  was  a  shock 

3  Go,  captain  Stub,  lead  on,  and  shew 

What  house  you  come  on  by  the  blow 

You  give  sir  Quintain,  and  the  cuff 

You  scape  o'  th'  sand-bag's  counterbujf.]  The  diversion  here 
mentioned  is  thus  described  by  Dr.  Kennet :  "  They  set  up  a 
post  perpendicularly  in  the  ground,  and  then  placed  a  slender 
piece  of  timber  on  the  top  of  it  on  a  spindle,  with  a  board  nailed 
to  it  on  one  end,  and  a  bag  of  sand  on  the  other.  Against  this 
board  they  rode  with  spears.  Dr.  Plot  writes,  that  he  saw  it  at 
Deddington  in  Oxfordshire,  where  only  strong  staves  were 
used :  which  violently  bringing  about  the  bag  of  sand,  if  they 
made  not  good  speed  away,  it  struck  them  on  the  neck,  and 
shoulders,  and  sometimes  perhaps  knocked  them  off  their  horses." 
Paroch.  Antiq.  WHAL. 


AT  WELBECK.  133 

To  have  buff'd  out  the  blood 
From  aught  but  a  block.          [Flourish. 

• 

GREEN-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Acci.     Well  run,  Green-hood,  got  between, 
Under  the  sand-bag  he  was  seen, 
Lowting  low,  like  a  forester  green. 

Fitz.     He  knows  his  tackle,  and  his  treen. 

[Flourish. 

BLUE-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Acci.     Give  the  old  England  yeoman  his  due, 
He  has  hit  sir  Quintain  just  in  the  qu — 
Though  that  be  black,  yet  he  is  blue. 
It  is  a  brave  patch  and  a  new  !     [Flourish. 

TAWNY-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Fitz.     Well  run,  Tawny,  the  abbot's  churl, 

His  jade  gave  him  a  jerk, 
As  he  would  have  his  rider  hurl 

His  hood  after  the  kirk. 
But  he  was  wiser,  and  well  beheft, 
For  this  is  all  that  he  hath  left.  [Flourish. 

MOTLEY-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Fitz.     Or  the  saddle  turn'd  round,  or  the  girts 

brake : 
For  low  on  the  ground,  woe  for  his  sake! 

The  law  is  found. 

Acci.     Had  his  pair  of  tongues  not  so  much  good. 
To  keep  his  head  in  his  motley  hood, 
[Safe  from  the  ground?4]         [Flourish. 

4  [Safe from  the  ground^  A  line  is  lost  in  this  place,  aud  I 
have  merely  put  in  brackets  what- 1  concern:  the  sense  of  it  to 
ha?e  been. 


134  LOVE'S  WELCOME 


RUSSET-HOOD'S  COURSE. 

Fit  a.  Russet  ran  fast,  though  he  be  thrown. 
Acci.  He  lost  no  stirrup,  for  he  had  none. 
Fitz.  His  horse  it  is  the  herald's  weft. 
Acci.  No,  'tis  a  mare,  and  hath  a  cleft.* 
Fitz.  She  is  country-borrow'd,  and  no  vail, 
Acci.  But's  hood  is  forfeit  to  Fitz- Ale. 

Here  Ace  i  DEVICE  did  break  them  off,  by  calling  them 
to  the  dance,  and  to  the  bride,  who  was  drest  like  an 
old  May-lady,  with  scarfs,  and  a  great  wrought 
handkerchief,  with  red  and  blue,  and  other  habili- 
ments :  Six  maids  attending  on  her,  attired  with 
buckram  bride- laces  bcgilt,  white  sleeves,  andstammel 
petticoats,  drest  after  the  cleanliest  country  guise ; 
among  whom  mistress  ALP H  ABET,  master  Accidence *s 
daughter,  did  bear  a  prime  sway. 

The  two  bride-squires,  the  cake-bearer  and  the 
bowl-bearer,  were  in  two  yellow  leather  doublets,  and 
russet  hose,  like  two  twin  clowns  prest  out  for  that 
office,  with  livery  hats  and  ribands. 

Acci.  Come  to  the  bride  ;  another  fit 

Yet  show,  sirs,  of  your  country  wit, 
But  of  your  best.  Let  all  the  steel 
Of  back  and  brains  fall  to  the  heel ; 
And  all  the  quicksilver  in  the  mine 
Run  in  the  foot-veins,  and  refine 
Your  firk-hum  jerk-hum  to  a  dance, 
Shall  fetch  the  fiddles  out  of  France, 

s  and  hath  a  cleft.']  This  passage  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Todd  to 
illustrate  the  meaning  of  clefts,  "  a  term  in  farriery  for  a  disease 
of  the  pasterns."  This  is  very  innocently  done ;  nevertheless, 
1  would  advise  the  substitution  of  another  example,  for  the 
present  is  unluckily  not  to  the  purpose. 


AT  WELBECK,  135 

To  wonder  at  the  horn-pipes  here, 
Of  Nottingham  and  Derbyshire. 

Fits.       With  the  phant'sies  of  hey- troll, 
Troll  about  the  bridal  bowl, 
And  divide  the  broad  bride  cake, 
Round  about  the  bride's-stake. 

Acci.       With,  Here  is  to  the  fruit  of  Pern, 

Fits:.       Grafted  upon  Stub  his  stem, 

Acci.       With  the  Peakish  nicety, 

Fitz.      And  old  Sherewood's  vicety. 

The  last  of  which  words  were  set  to  a  tune,  and 
sung  to  the  bagpipe,  and  measure  of  their  dance ; 
the  clowns  and  company  of  spectators  drinking 
and  eating  the  while. 

SONG. 

Let's  sing  about,  and  say,  Hey  troll, 
Troll  to  me  the  bridal  bowl, 
And  divide  the  broad  bride-cake, 
Round  about  the  brides-stake. 
With,  Here  is  to  the  fruit  of  Pern, 
Grafted  upon  Stub  his  stem, 
With  the  Peakish  nicety, 
And  old  Sherewood's  vicety. 
But  well  danced  Pent  upon  record, 
Above  thy  yeoman,  or  May-lord. 

Here  it  was  thought  necessary  they  should  be 
broken  off,  by  the  corning  in  of  a  GENTLEMAN, 
an  officer  or  servant  of  the  lord  lieutenant's, 
whose  face  had  put  on,  with  his  clothes,  an  equal 
authority  for  the  business. 

Gent.  Give  end  unto  your  rudeness  :  know  at 
length 


136  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

Whose  time  and  patience  you  have  urg'd,   the 

KING'S. 

Whom  if  you  knew,  and  truly,  as  you  ought, 
Twould  strike  a  reverence  inyou,ev'n  to  blushing. 
That  King  whose  love  it  is  to  be  your  parent! 
Whose  office  and  whose  charge,  to  be  your  pastor ! 
Whose  single  watch  defendeth  all  your  sleeps  ! 
Whose  labours  are  your  rests  !  whose  thoughts 

and  cares 

Breed  your  delights,  whose  business  all  your  lei- 
sures ! 

And  you  to  interrupt  his  serious  hours 
With  light,  impertinent,  unworthy  objects, 
Sights  for  yourselves,  and  savouring  your  own 

tastes ! 

You  are  to  blame.  Know  your  disease,  and  cure  it. 
Sports  should  not  be  obtruded  on  great  monarchs, 
But  wait  when  they  will  call  for  them  as  servants, 
And  meanest  of  their  servants,  since  their  price  is 
At  highest,  to  be  styl'd,  but  of  their  pleasures  ! 
— Our  King  is  going  now  to  a  great  work, 
Of  highest  love,  affection,  and  example, 
To  see  his  native  country,  and  his  cradle, 
And  find  those  manners  there,  which  he  suck'd  in 
With  nurse's  milk,  and  parent's  piety. 
O  sister  Scotland  !  what  hast  thou  deserved 
Of  joyful  England,  giving  us  this  king  ! 
What  union  (if  thou  lik'st)  hast  thou  not  made, 
In  knitting  for  Great  Britain  such  a  garland, 
And  letting  him  to  wear  it,  such  a  king 
As  men  would  wish,  that  knew  not  how  to  hope 
His  like,  but  seeing  him  !  a  prince  that's  law 
Unto  himself;  is  good  for  goodness  sake, 
And  so  becomes  the  rule  unto  his  subjects  ! 
That  studies  not  to  seem  or  to  shew  great, 
But  be  :  not  drest  for  others  eyes  and  ears, 
With  vizors  and  false  rumours,  but  makes  fame 


AT  WELBECK.  157 

Wait  on  his  actions,  and  thence  speak  his  name, 

O  bless  his  goings-out,  and  comings-in, 

Thou  mighty  God  of  heaven  !  lend  him  long 

Unto  the  nations,  which  yet  scarcely  know  him, 

Yet  are  most  happy  by  his  government. 

Bless  his  fair  bedmate,  and  their  certain  pledges, 

And  never  may  he  want  those  nerves  in  fate ; 

For  sure  succession  fortifies  a  state. 

Whilst  he  himself  is  mortal,  let  him  feel 

Nothing  about  him  mortal  in  his  house; 

Let  him  approve  his  young  increasing  Charles, 

A  loyal  son  ;  and  take  him  long  to  be 

An  aid,  before  he  be  a  successor. 

Late  come  that  day  that  heaven  will  ask  him 

from  us! 

Let  our  grand-children,  and  their  issue,  long 
Expect  it,  and  not  see  it.  Let  us  pray, 
That  fortune  never  know  to  exercise 
More  power  upon  him,  than  as  Charles  his  ser- 
vant, 

And  his  Great  Britain's  slave  :  ever  to  wait 
Bondwoman  to  the  GENIUS  of  this  state. 

Thus  it  ended. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME. 


KING  AND  QUEEN'S  ENTERTAINMENT 


AT  BOLSOVER, 


At  the  Earl  of  NEWCASTLE'S,  the  30th  of  July, 

1634. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME.]  The  King  (as  was  observed  before)  was  so 
well  pleased  with  the  Entertainment  at  Welbeck,  that  he  sent 
the  earl  of  Newcastle  word,  the  Queen  was  resolved  to  make  a 
progress  with  him  into  the  north,  and  he  therefore  desired  him 
to  prepare  the  same  amusement  for  her  which  had  given  him  such 
satisfaction  in  the  preceding  year.  "  Which,  (says  her  Grace,) 
my  lord  accordingly  did,  and  endeavoured  for  it  with  all  possi- 
ble care  and  industry,  sparing  nothing  that  might  add  splendour 
to  that  feast,  which  both  their  Majesties  were  pleased  to  honour 
with  their  presence.  Ben  Jonson  he  employed  in  fitting  such 
scenes  and  speeches  as  he  could  best  devise,  and  sent  for  all  the 
gentry  of  the  country  to  come  and  wait  on  their  Majesties.  This 
entertainment  he  made  at  Bolsover  castle,  in  Derbyshire,  some 
five  miles  distant  from  Welbeck,  and  resigned  Welbeck  for 
their  Majesties  lodging.  It  cost  him  in  all  between  fourteen 
and  fifteen  thousand  pounds."  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
p.  184. 

It  is  probable  that  the  course  at  the  Quintain  was  repeated ; 
what  we  have  here,  was  exhibited,  not  at  the  dinner,  but  at  the 
banquet,  a  kind  of  desert,  which  was  usually  served  up  in  an 
open  room.  This  little  piece  is  wretchedly  given  in  the  folio. 


LOVE'S  WELCOME,  be. 


The  King  and  Queen  being  set  at  banquet,  this 
SONG  was  sung  by  two  tenors  and  a  bass. 

Full  Cho.  If  Love  be  call' d  a  lifting  of  the  sense 
To  knowledge  of  that  pure  intelligence, 
Wherein  the  soul  hath  rest  and  residence, 

1  Ten.   When  were  the  senses  in  such  order  placed  ? 

2  Ten.  The  Sight,  the  Hearing,  Smelling,  Touching, 

Taste, 

All  at  one  banquet? 
Bas.      Would  it  ever  last ! 

1  Ten.  We  wish  the  same :  who  set  it  forth  thus  ? 
Bas.      Love ! 

2  Ten.  But  to  what  end,  or  to  what  object  ? 
Bas.     Love  I 

1  Ten.  Doth  Love,  then  feast  itself? 
Bas.      Love  will  feast  Love. 

2  Ten.  You  make  of  Love  a  riddle,  or  a  chain, 

A  circle,  a  mere  knot ;  untie 't  again* 
Bas.      Love  is  a  circle,  both  thejirst  and  last 

Of  all  our  actions,  and  his  knot's,  too,  fast. 

1  Ten.  A  true  love  knot  will  hardly  be  untied  : 

And  if  it  could,  who  would  this  pair  divide  ? 
Bas.       God  made  them  such,  and  Love. 

2  Ten.  Who  is  a  ring 

The  likest  to  the  year  of  any  thing, 
2  Ten.  And  runs  into  itself. 
Bas.       Then  let  us  sing, 

And  run  into  one  sound. 


142  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

Cho.  Let  Welcome  Jill 

Our  thoughts,  hearts,  voices,  and  that  one 

word  thrill 

Through  all  our  language,  Welcome,  Welcome 
still! 

1  Ten.  Could  we  put  on  the  beauty  of  all  creatures 

2  Ten.  Sing  in  the  air,  and  notes  of  nightingales, 

1  Ten.    Exhale  the  sweets  of  earth,  and  all  her 

features, 

2  Ten.  And  tell  you,  softer  than  in  silk,  these  tales; 
Bas.       Welcome  should  season  all  for  taste. 

Cho.  And  hence, 

At  every  real  banquet  to  the  sense, 
Welcome,  true  welcome,Jill  the  compliments. 


After  the  Banquet, 

The  King  and  Queen  being  retired,  were  entertained 
with  a  DANCE  O/'MECHANICS. 

Enter  Coronel  VITRU  vius  speaking  to  some  without. 

Vit.  Come  forth,  boldly  put  forth,  in  your 
holiday  clothes,  every  mother's  son  of  you.  This 
is  the  king  and  queen's  majestical  holiday.  My 
lord  has  it  granted  from  them  ;  I  had  it  granted 
from  my  lord  ;  and  do  give  it  unto  you  gratis, 
that  is,  bonajide,  with  the  faith  of  a  surveyor, 
your  coronel  Vitruvius.  Do  you  know  what  a 
surveyor  is  now  ?  I  tell  you,  a  supervisor.  A 
hard  word,  that ;  but  it  may  be  softened,  and 
brought  in,  to  signify  something.  An  overseer! 
one  that  overseeth  you.  A  busy  man  !  and  yet  I 
must  seem  busier  than  I  am,  as  the  poet  sings, 


AT  BOLSOVER.  143 

but  which  of  them  I  will  not  now  trouble  myself 
to  tell  you. 

Enter  Captain  SMITH,   (or  VULCAN,)  with  three 
Cyclops. 

O  captain  Smith  !  or  hammer-armed  Vulcan ! 
with  your  three  sledges,  you  are  our  music,  you 
come  a  little  too  tardy,  but  we  remit  that  to 
your  polt-foot,  we  know  you  are  lame.  Plant 
yourselves  there,  and  beat  your  time  out  at  the 
anvil.  Time  and  Measure  are  the  father  and 
mother  of  music,  you  know,  and  your  coronel 
Vitruvius  knows  a  little. 

Enter  CHESIL  the  carver  ;  MAUL  the  free-mason  ; 
squi re  SUMMER  the  carpenter;  TWYBIL  his  man. 

O  Chesil,  our  curious  carver!  and  master  Maul 
our  free-mason  ;  squire  Summer  our  carpenter; 
and  Twybil  his  man ;  stand  you  four  there,  in 
the  second  rank,  work  upon  that  ground. 

Enter  DRESSER  the  plumber  ;  QUARREL  the  gla* 
zier ;  FRET  the  plaisterer /  BEATER  mortar- 
man. 

And  you,  Dresser  the  plumber ;  Quarrel  the 
glazier ;  Fret  the  plaisterer ;  and  Beater  the 
mortar-man :  put  all  you  on  in  the  rear ;  as 
finishers  in  true  footing,  with  tune  and  measure. 
Measure  is  the  soul  of  a  dance,  and  tune  the 
tickle-foot  thereof.  Use  holiday  legs,  and  have 
'em  ;  spring,  leap,  caper,  and  gingle  :  pumps  and 
ribands  shall  be  your  reward,  till  the  soles  of 
your  feet  swell  with  the  surfeit  of  your  light  and 
nimble  motion.  [Here  they  began  to  dance. 


144  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

Well  done,  my  musical,  arithmetical,  geome- 
trical gamesters !  or  rather  my  true  mathema- 
tical boys  !  it  is  carried  in  number,  weight,  and 
measure,  as  if  the  airs  were  all  harmony,  and  the 
figures  a  well-timed  proportion  !  I  cry  still,  de- 
serve holidays,  and  have  'em.  I'll  have  a  whole 
quarter  of  the  year  cut  out  for  you  in  holidays, 
and  laced  with  statute-tunes  and  dances,  fitted  to 
the  activity  of  your  tressels,  to  which  you  shall 
trust,  lads,  in  the  name  of  your  Iniquo  Vitruvius,* 
Hey  for  the  lily,  for,  and  the  blended  rose ! 

Here  the  Dance  ended,  and  the  Mechanics  retired. 


The  King  and  Queen  had  a  second  banquet  set 
down  before  them  from  the  clouds  by  two  Loves, 
EROS  and  ANTEROS  :  one  as  the  king's,  the  other 
as  the  queen's,  differenced  by  their  garlands 
only;  his  of  white  and  red  roses,  the  other  of 
lilies  interweaved,  gold,  silver,  purple,  &c.  with 
a  bough  of  palm  in  his  hand  cleft  a  little  at  the 
top;  they  were  both  armed  and  winged;  with 
bows  and  quivers,  cassocks,  breeches,  buskins, 
gloves  and  perukes  alike.  They  stood  silent 
a  while,  M^ondering  at  one  another,  till  at  last  the 
lesser  of  them  began  to  speak. 

Er.  Another  Cupid  ! 

An.  Yes,  your  second  self, 
A  son  of  Venus,  and  as  mere  an  elf 
And  wag  as  you. 

Er.  Eros  ? 

An.  No,  Anteros : 

1  Iniquo  Vitrnvius."]  This  miserable  pun  upon  Inigo,  is  copied 
by  the  poet's  friend,  PhiHp,  earl  of  Pembroke,  in  some  angry- 
remarks  upon  Jones,  written  in  the  margin  of  his  work  on 
Stone/ienge. 


AT  BOLSOVER.  145 

Your  brother  Cupid,  yet  not  sent  to  cross, 
Or  spy  fhto  your  favours  here  at  court. 

Er.  What  then  ? 

An.  To  serve  you,  brother,  and  report 
Your  graces  from  the  queen's  side  to  the  king's, 
In  whose  name  I  salute  you. 

Er.  Break  my  wings 
I  fear  you  will 

An.  O  be  not  jealous,  brother  ! 
What  bough  is  this  ? 

Er.  A  palm 

An.  Give't  me. 

Er.  Another 
You  may  have. 

An.  I  will  this.  [Snatches  at  the  palm. 

Er.  Divide  it. 

[He  divides  if,  and  gives  Anteros  a  part. 

An.  So, 

This  was  right  brother-like  !  the  world  will  know 
By  this  one  act,  both  natures.     You  are  Love, 
I  Love,  again.    In  these  two  spheres  we  move, 
Eros  and  Anteros. 

Er.  We  have  cleft  the  bough, 
And  struck  a  tally  of  our  loves  too  now. 

An.  I  call  to  mind  the  wisdom  of  our  mother 
Venus,  who  would  have  Cupid  have  a  brother — 

Er.  To  look  upon  and  thrive.  Me  seems  I  grew 
Three  inches  higher  since  I  met  with  you. 
It  was  the  counsel  that  the  oracle  gave 
Your  nurses,  the  glad  Graces,  sent  to  crave 
Themis'  advice.     You  do  not  know,  quoth  she, 
The  nature  of  this  infant.     Love  may  be 
Brought  forth  thus  little,  live  a  while  alone, 
But  ne'er  will  prosper,  if  he  have  not  one 
Sent  after  him  to  play  with,  such  another 
As  you  are,  Anteros,  our  loving  brother. 

VOL.  VIII.  L 


146  LOVE'S  WELCOME 

An.  Who  would  be  always  planted  in  your  eye  ; 
For  love  by  love  increaseth  mutually. 

Er.  We  either,  looking  on  each  other,  thrive. 
An.  Shoot  up,  grow  galliard  - 
Er.  Yes,  and  more  alive  ! 


one's  away,  it  seems  we  both  are  less. 

Er.  I  was  a  dwarf,  an  urchin,  I  confess, 
Till  you  were  present. 

An.  But  a  bird  of  wing, 
Now  fit  to  fly  before  a  queen  or  king. 

Er.  I  have  not  one  sick  feather  since  you  came, 
But  turn'd  a  jollier  Cupid, 

An.  Than  I  am. 

Er.  I  love  my  mother's  brain,  could  thus  pro- 

vide 

For  both  in  court,  and  give  us  each  oar  side, 
Where  we  might  meet. 

An.  Embrace. 

Er.  Circle  each  other. 

An.  Confer  and  whisper. 

Er.  Brother  with  a  brother. 

An.  And  by  this  sweet  contention  for  the  palm, 
Unite  our  appetites,  and  make  them  calm. 

Er.  To  will,  and  nill  one  thing. 

An.  And  so  to  move 
Affection  in  our  wills,  as  in  our  love. 

Er.  It  is  the  place,  sure,  breeds  it,  where  we 
are. 

An.  The   king  and  queen's   court,  which   is 

circular, 
And  perfect. 

Er.  The  pure  school  that  we  live  in, 
And  is  of  purer  love,  a  discipline.1 

1  We  have  already  had  this  fable  in  the  Tilting  at  a  Marriage. 
There  is  not  much  to  be  said  of  it  here.  In  fact,  these  effu- 
sions, which  attended  the  king  in  his  progresses,  and  which 


AT  BOLSOVER.  U7 


Enter  PHILALETHES. 

No  more  of  your  poetry,  pretty  Cupids,  lest 
presuming  on  your  little  wits,  you  profane  the 
intention  of  your  service.  The  place,  I  confess, 
wherein  (by  the  providence  of  your  mother 
Venus)  you  are  now  planted,  is  the  divine  school 
of  Love :  an  academy  or  court,  where  all  the 
true  lessons  of  Love  are  thoroughly  read  and 
taught.  The  reasons,  the  proportions  and  har- 
mony, drawn  forth  in  analytic  tables,  and  made 
demonstrable  to  the  senses.  Which  if  you, 
brethren,  should  report,  and  swear  to,  would 
hardly  get  credit  above  a  fable,  here,  in  the 
edge  of  Derbyshire,  the  region  of  ale,  because 
you  relate  in  rhyme.  O  that  rhyme  is  a  shrewd 
disease,  and  makes  all  suspected  it  would  per- 
suade. Leave  it,  pretty  Cupids,  leave  it.  Rhyme 
will  undo  you,  and  hinder  your  growth  and  repu- 
tation in  court,  more  than  any  thing  beside,  you 
have  either  mentioned  or  feared.  If  you  dabble 
in  poetry  once,  it  is  done  of  your  being  believed 
or  understood  here.  No  man  will  trust  you  in 
this  verge,  but  conclude  you  for  a  mere  case  of 
canters,  or  a  pair  of  wandering  gipsies. 

Return  to  yourselves,  little  deities,  and  admire 
the  miracles  you  serve,  this  excellent  king  and 
his  unparalleled  queen,  who  are  the  canons,  the 
decretals,  and  whole  school-divinity  of  Love. 
Contemplate  and  study  them.  Here  shall  you 
read  Hymen,  having  lighted  two  torches,  either 

perhaps  came  upon  him  unexpectedly,  are  merely  little  artifices 
of  love  and  duty  on  the  part  of  the  noble  hosts,  to  keep  their 
sovereign  with  them  as  long  as  possible,  and  should  not  be  too 
rigorously  judged:  they  are,  as  Jonson  says,  "  suddenly 
thought  upon." 

L  2 


148  LOVE'S  WELCOME. 

y 

of  which  inflame  mutually,  but  waste  not.  One 
love  by  the  other's  aspect  increasing,  and  both 
in  the  right  lines  of  aspiring.  The  Fates  spin- 
ning them  round  and  even  threads,  and  of  their 
whitest  wool,  without  brack  or  purl.  Fortune  and 
Time  fettered  at  their  feet  with  adamantine 
chains,  their  wings  deplumed,  for  starting  from 
them.  All  amiableness  in  the  richest  dress  of 
delight  and  colours  courting  the  season  to  tarry 
by  them,  and  make  the  idea  of  their  felicity  per- 
fect; together  with  the  love,  knowledge,  and 
duty  of  their  subjects  perpetual.  So  wisheth  the 
glad  and  grateful  client,  seated  here,  the  over- 
joyed master  of  the  house;  and  prayeth  that  the 
whole  region  about  him  could  speak  but  his 
language.  Which  is,  that  first  the  people's  love 
would  let  that  people  know  their  own  happiness, 
and  that  knowledge  could  confirm  their  duties 
to  an  admiration  of  your  sacred  persons ;  de- 
scended, one  from  the  most  peaceful,  the  other 
the  most  warlike,  both  your  pious  and  just  pro- 
genitors ;  from  whom,  as  out  of  peace,  came 
strength,  and  "out  of  the  strong  came  sweet- 
ness;" so  in  you  joined  by  holy  marriage,  in  the 
flower  and  ripeness  of  years,  live  the  promise  of 
a  numerous  succession  to  your  sceptres,  and  a 
strength  to  secure  your  own  islands,  with  their 
own  ocean,  but  more  your  own  palm-branches, 
the  types  of  perpetual  victory.  To  which,  two 
words  be  added,  a  zealous  Amen,  and  ever 
rounded  with  a  crown  of  Welcome.  Welcome, 
welcome  ! 


EPIGRAMS. 


BOOK   I. 


EPIGRAMS.]  From  the  folio  of  1616.  The  Collection  is  there 
called  Book  I.  from  which  it  may  be  collected,  that  Jonson 
intended,  at  the  period  of  its  appearance,  to  make  a  further 
selection.  It  is  to  be  lamented,  on  many  accounts,  that  he  sub- 
sequently changed  bis  purpose.  The  character  of  the  illustrious 
nobleman,  to  whom  this  manly  and  high. spirited  dedication  is 
addressed,  must  be  looked  for  in  the  history  of  the  times. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  admonish  the  reader  not  to  take  up 
these  poems  with  the  general  expectation  of  finding  them  ter- 
minate in  a  point  of  wit.  This,  indeed,  is  the  modern  construe, 
tion  of  the  word  ;  but  this  was  never  Jonson's :  by  Epigram  he 
meant  nothing  more  than  a  short  poem,  chiefly  restricted  to  on 
idea,  and  equally  adapted  to  the  delineation  and  expression  of 
every  passion  incident  to  human  life.  The  work  is,  in  short, 
an  Anthology,  and  may  occasionally  remind  those  who  are 
studious  of  antiquity,  of  the  collections  which  pass  under  that 
name. 


TO   THE 


GREAT  EXAMPLE  OF  HONOUR  AND  VIRTUE, 
THE  MOST  NOBLE 

WILLIAM  EARL  OF  PEMBROKE, 
LORD  CHAMBERLAIN,  &c. 


MY  LORD, 

WHILE  you  cannot  change  your  merit,  I  dare,  not 
change  your  title :    it  was  that  made  it,  and  not  /. 
Under  which  name,  I  here  offer  to  your  lordship  the 
ripest  of  my  studies,  my  EPIGRAMS;  which,  though 
they  carry  danger  in  the  sound,  do  not  therefore 
seek  your  shelter ;  for,  when  I  made  them,  I  had 
nothing  in  my  conscience,  to  expressing  of  which  I 
did  need  a  cipher.  But,  if  I  be  fallen  into  those  times t 
wherein,  for  the  likeness  of  vice,  and  facts,  every 
one  thinks  another's  ill  deeds  objected  to  him  ;  and 
that  in  their  ignorant  and  guilty  mouths,  the  common 
voice  is,  for  their  security,  Beware  the  poet !  con- 
fessing therein  so  much  love  to  their  diseases,  as  they 
would  rather  make  a  party  for  them,  than  be  either 
rid,  or  told  of  them  ;  I  must  expect,  (ft  your  Lord- 
ship's hand,  the  protection  of  truth  and  liberty,  while 
you  are  constant  to  your  own  goodness.    In  thanks 
whereof,  I  return  you  the  honour  of  leading  forth 
so  many  good  and  great  names  (as  my  verses  mention 
on  the  better  part)  to  their  remembrance  with  pos- 
terity.   Amongst  whomt  if  I  have  praised  unfortu- 


natety  any  one  that  doth  not  deserve  ;  or,  if  all  an- 
swer not,  in  all  numbers,  the  pictures  I  have  made 
of  them;  I  hope  it  will  be  forgiven  me,  that  they 
are  no  ill  pieces,  though  they  be  not  like  the  persons. 
But  I  foresee  a  nearer  fate  to  my  book  than  this, 
that  the  vices  therein  will  be  owned  before  the  virtues, 
(though  there  I  have  avoided  all  particulars,  as  I 
have  done  names, )  and  some  will  be  so  ready  to  dis- 
credit me,  as  they  will  have  the  impudence  to  belie 
themselves :  for  if  I  meant  them  not,  it  is  so.  Nor 
can  I  hope  otherwise.  For  why  should  they  remit 
any  thing  of  their  riot,  their  pride,  their  self-love, 
and  other  inherent  graces,  to  consider  truth  or  virtue, 
but,  with  the  trade  of  the  world,  lend  their  long  ears 
against  men  they  love  not ;  and  hold  their  dear 
mountebank  or  jester  in  far  better  condition  than  all 
the  study,  or  studiers  of  humanity  ?  For  such,  1 
would  rather  know  them  by  their  visards  still,  than 
they  should  publish  their  faces,  at  their  peril,  in  my 
theatre*  where  Cato,  if  he  lived,  might  enter  without 
scandal. 

Your  Lordship's 

most  faithful  honourer, 

BEN  JONSON. 


1  In  my  theatre."]  i.  e.  in  the  ensuing  collection  of  epigrams. 
This  would  not  hare  deserved  mention,  had  not  Oldys,  in  his 
MS.  notes  to  Langbaine,  gravely  produced  the  passage  to  prove 
that  Jonson  was  "  master  of  a  play-house !"  <c  He  (Ben) 
mentions  something  of  his  theatre  to  the  earl  of  Pembroke, 
before  his  epigrams."  So  men  sometimes  read  ! 


EPIGRAMS. 


i. 

To  THE  READER. 

PRAY  thee,  take  care,  that  tak'st  my  book  in 

hand, 
To  read  it  well ;  that  is,  to  understand. 

II. 

To  MY  BOOK. 

It  will  be  look'd  for,  BOOK,  when  some  but  see 
Thy  title,  EPIGRAMS,  and  named  of  me, 
Thou  shouldst  be  bold,  licentious,  full  of  gall, 
Wormwood,   and   sulphur,    sharp,    and    tooth'd 

withal ; 

Become  a  petulant  thing,  hurl  ink,  and  wit, 
As  madmen  stones ;  not  caring  whom  they  hit. 
Deceive  their  malice,  who  could  wish  it  so; 
And  by  thy  wiser  temper,  let  men  know 
Thou  art  not  covetous  of  least  self- fame, 
Made  from  the  hazard  of  another's  shame  ; 
Much  less,  with  lewd,  profane,  and  beastly  phrase, 
To  catch  the  world's  loose  laughter,  or  vain  gaze. 
He  that  departs  with  his  own  honesty 
For  vulgar  praise,  doth  it  too  dearly  buy. 


154  EPIGRAMS. 

III. 
To  Mr  BOOKSELLER. 

Thou  that  mak'st  gain  thy  end,  and  wisely  well, 
Call'st  a  book  good,  or  bad,  as  it  doth  sell, 
Use  mine  so  too ;  I  give  thee  leave:  but  crave, 
For  the  luck's  sake,  it  thus  much  favour  have, 
To  lie  upon  thy  stall,  till  it  be  sought ; 
Not  offer'd,  as  it  made  suit  to  be  bought ; 
Nor  have  my  title-leaf  on  posts  or  walls, 
Or  in  cleft-sticks,  advanced  to  make  calls 
For  termers,  or  some  clerklike  serving-man, 
Who  scarce  can  spell  th'  hard  names  ;    whose 

knight  less  can. 

If,  without  these  vile  arts,  it  will  not  sell, 
Send  it  to  Bucklers-bury,  there  'twill  well.1 

IV. 
To  KING  JAMES. 

How,  best  of  kings,  dost  thou  a  sceptre  bear !  * 
How,  best  of  poets,  dost  thou  laurel  wear  ! 

1  Send  it  to  Bucklers-bury,  there  'twill  well.]  "  The  whole 
street  (Stow  says)  called  Buckk's-bury,  on  both  the  sides 
throughout,  is  possessed  of  grocers  and  apothecaries."  So  that 
there  must  hare  been  a  terrible  consumption  of  poetry,  and,  of 
course,  a  never-failing  demand  for  it.  "  The  pepperers,"  also, 
it  appears  from  the  same  authority,  mightily  affected  this  street. 

*  #or<7,  best  of  kings,  &c.]  "  Dr.  Kurd,"  Whalley  says  in  the 
margin  of  his  copy,  "  has  severely  but  justly  reprehended  Jonson 
for  the  gross  adulation  in  these  verses."  Reprehensions  of  adu- 
lation come  -with  a  good  grace  from  Hurd.  it  must  be  confessed ! 
But  why  this  outcry  against  our  poet  ?  His  epigram  was  pro- 
bably written  soon  after  the  accession  of  James,  and  when  this 
good  prince  had  surely  given  little  cause  for  complaint  to  any 


EPIGRAMS.  155 

But  two  things  rare  the  Fates  had  in  their  store, 
And  gave  thee  both,  to  shew  they  could  no  more. 
For  such  a  poet,  while  thy  days  were  green, 
Thou  wert,  as  chief  of  them  are  said  t'  have  been. 
And  such  a  prince  thou  art,  we  daily  see, 
As  chief  of  those  still  promise  they  will  be. 
Whom  should  my  muse  then  fly  to,  but  the  best 
Of  kings,  for  grace  ;  of  poets,  for  my  test? 

one.  With  respect  to  his  boyish  poetry,  of  which  I  presume 
Hnrd  never  read  a  line,  it  is  really  creditable  to  his  talents. 
Some  of  the  Psalms  are  better  translated  by  him  than  they 
were  by  Milton  at  his  years  ;  and  surrounded  as  he  was  by 
the  hirelings  of  Elizabeth,  who  betrayed  his  mother,  and  only 
waited  for  the  word  to  do  as  much  by  him,  it  is  greatly  to 
his  honour  that  he  turned  his  studies  to  so  good  an  account. 
But  why,  let  me  ask  again,  this  eternal  outcry  against 
Jonson  ?  Kurd  had  not  very  far  to  look  for  those  who  flattered 
much  more  grossly  than  Jonson,  without  his  plea  for  it.  James 
was  his  munificent  patron,  and  gratitude,  which  none  felt  more 
ardently  than  our  poet,  might  excuse  some  little  exaggeration 
of  praise. — But  what  extraoidinary  inducement  had  Shakspcare 
for  his  adulation?  Hurd  never  asked  himself  this  question. 
What  plea  had  Drummond,  or  his  friend  Alexander  (Lord 
Stirling)  for  their  gross  sycophancy  ?  The  latter  has  a  pane- 
gyric on  James  for  a  sonnet  greatly  inferior  to  any  thing  which 
his  majesty  had  written  at  the  date  of  this  Epigram,  in  which 
he  says, 

"  He,  prince,  or  poet,  more  than  man  doth  prove  !" 
and,  after  a  deal  of  fulsome  rant,  concludes  thus  : 

"  But  all  his  due  who  can  afford  him  then  ? 
A  God  of  poets,  and  a  king  of  men  !" 

And  this  is  addressed  to  the  queasy  Drummond,  who  it  so  grie- 
vously scandalized  at  the  "  insincerity"  of  his  "  dear  friend" 
Jonson.  I  trust  that  the  reader  will  not  be  mortified  at  disco- 
vering that  our  author  has  partners  in  his  delinquency :  a  fact 
that  never  appears  to  have  been  suspected  by  those  who  write 
agaiust  him. 


156  EPIGRAMS. 

V. 
ON  THE  UNION. 

When  was  there  contract  better  driven  by  Fate, 
Or  celebrated  with  more  truth  of  state  ? 
The  world  the  temple  was,  the  priest  a  king, 
The  spoused  pair  two  realms,  the  sea  the  ring. 

VI. 

To  ALCHEMISTS. 

If  all  you  boast  of  your  great  art  be  true ; 
Sure,  willing  poverty  lives  most  in  you. 

VII. 

ON  THE  NEW  HOT-HOUSE.* 

Where  lately  harbour'd  many  a  famous  whore, 
A  purging  bill,  now  fix'd  upon  the  door, 
Tells  you  it  is  a  hot-house  ;  so  it  may, 
And  still  be  a  whore-house :  they're  synonyma. 

VIII. 
ON  A  ROBBERY. 

RIDWAY  robb'd  DUNCOTE  of  three  hundred 
pound, 

Ridway  was  ta'en,  arraign'd,  condemn'd  to  die; 
But,  for  this  money,  was  a  courtier  found, 

Begg'd  Rid  way's  pardon:  Duncote  now  doth  cry, 
Robb'd  both  of  money,  and  the  law's  relief, 

"  The  courtier  is  become  the  greater  thief." 

*  A  bagnio.  Thus  Shakspeare :  "  Now  she  professes  a  hot- 
house,  which  I  think  is  a  rery  ill  house  too."  Measure  for 
Measure. 


EPIGRAMS.  157 

IX. 

To  ALL  TO  WHOM  I  WRITE. 

May  none  whose  scatter'd  names  honour  my  book, 
For  strict  degrees  of  rank  or  title  look : 
'Tis  'gainst  the  manners  of  an  epigram  ; 
And  I  a  poet  here,  no  herald  am. 

X. 

To  MY  LORD  IGNORANT. 

Thou  calPst  me  POET,  as  a  term  of  shame; 
But  I  have  my  revenge  made,  in  thy  name. 

XI. 

ON  SOMETHING,  THAT  WALKS 
SOMEWHERE. 

At  court  I  met  it,  in  clothes  brave  enough, 
To  be  a  courtier ;  and  looks  grave  enough, 
To  seem  a  statesman  :  as  I  near  it  came, 
It  made  me  a  great  face  ;  I  ask'd  the  name. 
A  Lord,  it  cried,  buried  in  flesh  and  blood, 
And  such  from  whom  let  no  man  hope  least  good, 
For  I  will  do  none  ;  and  as  little  ill, 
For  I  will  dare  none :  Good  Lord,  walk  dead  still. 

XII. 
ON  LIEUTENANT  SHIFT. 

SHiFT,here  in  town,  not  meanestamongstsquires, 
That  haunt  Pickt-hatch,   Marsh-Lambeth,   and 
White-friars, 

*  That  haunt  Pickt-hatch,  Marsh-Lambeth,  and  White-friars^ 
The  respective  resorts  of  debauchees,  thieves,  and  fraudulent 
debtors. 


158  EPIGRAMS. 

Keeps  himself,  with  half  a  man,  and  defrays 
The  charge  of  that  state,  with  this  charm,   god 

pays.4 

By  that  one  spell  he  lives,  eats,  drinks,  arrays 
Himself:  his  whole  revenue  is,  god  pays. 
The  quarter-day  is  come ;  the  hostess  says, 
She  must  have  money  :  he  returns,  god  pays. 
The  tailor  brings  a  suit  home  ;  he  it  says, 
Looks  o'er  the  bill,  likes  it :  and  says,  god  pays. 
He  steals  to  ordinaries  ;  there  he  plays 
At  dice  his  borrow'd  money  :   which,  god  pays. 
Then  takes  up  fresh  commodities,  for  days  ; 
Signs  to  new  bonds ;   forfeits ;  and  cries,  god 

pays. 

That  lost,  he  keeps  his  chamber,  reads  essays, 
Takes  physic,  tears  the  papers  :  still,  god  pays. 
Or  else  by  water  goes,  and  so  to  plays ; 
Calls  for  his  stool,  adorns  the  stage  :  god  pays. 
To  every  cause  he  meets,  this  voice  he  brays : 
His  only  answer  is  to  all,  god  pays. 
Not  his  poor  cockatrice  but  he  betrays 
Thus;  and  for  his  letchery,  scores,  god  pays. 
But  see  !  the  old  bawd  hath  serv'd  him  in  his  trim, 
Lent  him  a  pocky  whore, — She  hath  paid  him. 

•  God  pays.]  The  impudent  plea  for  charity,  or  rather  for 
running  in  debt,  advanced  by  disbanded  soldiers,  of  whom  there 
were  many  at  this  period,  and  more  who  pretended  to  be  such. 
The  expression  occurs  in  the  London  Prodigal,  in  a  passage  much 
to  the  purpose : 

Sir  Arthur.  I  am  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman. 

Lace.  I  neither  doubt  your  valour  nor  your  love, 
But  there  be  some  that  bear  a  soldier's  form, 
That  swear  by  him  they  never  think  upon  : 
Go  swaggering  up  and  down  from  house  to  house, 
Crying,  god  pays." 

For  says  (tries)  see  vol.  v.  p.  173. 


EPIGRAMS.  159 

XIII. 
To  DOCTOR  EMPIRIC. 

When  men  a  dangerous  disease  did  'scape, 
Of  old,  they  gave  a  cock  to  ^Esculape : ' 
Let  me  give  two,  that  doubly  am  got  free ; 
From  my  disease's  danger,  and  from  thee. 

XIV. 
To  WILLIAM  CAMDEN. 

CAM  DEN  !  most  reverend  head,  to  whom  I  owe 
All  that  I  am  in  arts,  all  that  I  know  ;* 
(How  nothing's  that?)  to  whom  my  country  owes 
The  great  renown,  and  name  wherewith  she  goes! 
Than  thee  the  age  sees  not  that  thing  more  grave, 
More  high,  more  holy,  that  she  more  would  crave. 

s  They  gave  a  cock  to  JEsculape.']  The  last  request  which  So. 
crates  made  to  his  friends  was,  that  they  would  offer  this  po- 
pular sacrifice  for  him.  This  has  led  some  to  imagine  that  the 
poison  had  begun  to  take  effect,  and  that  he  was  become  light- 
headed, lie  was  quite  as  rational  as  his  critics  ;  and,  in  perfect 
consistency  with  his  creed,  viewed  his  death  as  a  recovery  to  life. 
*  Camden,  most  reverend  head,  to  whom  I  owe 

All  that  I  am  in  arts,  all  that  I  know.]  Camden  was  our 
poet's  master  at  Westminster-school ;  and  gratitude  has  led  him 
to  make  a  proper  acknowledgment  for  his  care  and  pains  in 
teaching  him,  both  by  this  epigram,  and  the  dedication  of 
Every  Man  m  hits  Humour  to  him.  WHAL. 

These  are  not  the  only  place  s  in  which  Camden  is  mentioned 
with  respect.  In  the  King's  Entertainment,  Jonson  terms  him 
**  the  glory  and  'ight  of  the  kingdom,"  and  in  the  Masque  of 
Queens,  he  introduces  him  with  similar  commendation.  No  man 
ever  possessed  a  more  warm  and  affectionate  heart  than  this 
great  poet,  whose  name  is  made  synonymous  with  envy  and 
ingratitude,  by  every  desperate  blockhead  who  reprints  an  old 
play  or  a  poem. 


160  EPIGRAMS. 

What  name,  what  skill,  what  faith  hast  thou  in 

things  ! 
What   sight    in    searching    the    most   antique 

springs ! 

What  weight,  and  what  authority  in  thy  speech! 
Men  scarce  can  make  that  doubt,  but  thou  canst 

teach. 

Pardon  free  truth,  and  let  thy  modesty, 
Which  conquers  all,  be  once  o'ercome  by  thee. 
Many  of  thine,  this  better  could,  than  I ; 
But  for  their  powers,  accept  my  piety. 

XV. 

ON  COURT-WORM. 

All  men  are  worms  ;  but  this  no  man.  In  silk 
Twas  brought  to  court  first  wrapt,  and  white  as 

milk ; 

Where,  afterwards,  it  grew  a  butterfly. 
Which  was  a  caterpillar  :  so  'twill  die/ 


XVI. 

To  BRAINHARDY. 

HARDY,  thy  brain  is  valiant,  'tis  confest, 
Thou  more ;  that  with  it  every  day  dar'st  jest 


in  silk 


'Twas  brought  to  court,  &c.]    Pope  had  this  epigram  in  his 
thoughts  when  he  wrote  his  Epistle  to  Arbuthnot : 

"  Let  Sporus  tremble.  What,  that  thing  of  silk  ! 
Snorus,  that  mere  white  curd  of  ass's  milk." 

But  he  has  confounded  the  metaphor,  which  is  preserved  by 
Jonson  with  equal  accuracy  and  beauty. 


EPIGRAMS.  161 

Thy  self  into  fresh  brawls  :  when,  call'tl  upon, 
Scarce  thy  week's  swearing  brings  thee  off,  of 

one. 

So  in  short  time,  thou  art  in  arrearage  grown 
Some  hundred  quarrels,  yet  dost  thou  fight  none ; 
Nor  need'st  thou  :  for  those  few,  by  oath  releast, 
Make  good  what  thou  dar'st  do  in  all  the  rest. 
Keep  thy  self  there,  and  think  thy  valour  right ; 
He  that  dares  damn  himself,  dares  more  than  fight. 

xvii. 

To  THE   LEARNED  CllITIC. 

May  others  fear,  fly,  and  traduce  thy  name, 
As  guilty  men  do  magistrates ;  glad  I, 

That  wish  my  poems  a  legitimate  fame, 
Charge  them,  for  crown,  to  thy  sole  censure  hie. 

And  but  a  sprig  of  bays,  given  by  thee, 

Shall  outli  ve  garlands,  stol'n  from  the  chaste  tree.* 

XVIII. 
To  MY  MERE  ENGLISH  CENSURER. 

To  thee,  my  way  in  Epigrams  seems  new, 
When  both  it  is  the  old  way,  and  the  true. 
Thou  say'st,  that  cannot  be  ;  for  thou  hast  seen 
Davis,  and  Weever,*  and  the  best  have  been, 

•'*  Shall  outlive  garlands  stolen  from  the  chaste  tree.]  i.  e.  the 
laurel;  Daphne,  rather  than  consent  to  the  desires  of  Apollo, 
being  changed  into  that  tree.  WHAL. 

9 For  thou  hast  seen 

Davis,  and  Weever.]  Davis  was  the  author  of  a  collection 

of  epigrams  called  the  Scourge  of  Folly  :  he  was  by  profession  a 

writing-master,  and  chiefly  taught  in  the  university  of  Oxford. 

He  was  a  contemporary  of  Jonson,and  has  an  epigram  addressed 

VOL.  VIII.  M 


EPIGRAMS. 

And  mine  come  nothing  like.  I  hope  so:  Yet, 
As  theirs  did  with  thee,  mine  nvght  credit  get, 
If  thou'dst  but  use  thy  faith,  as  thou  didst  then; 
When  thou  wert  wont  t'  admire,  not  censure  men. 
Prithee  believe  still,  and  not  judge  so  fast, 
Thy  faith  is  all  the  knowledge  that  thou  hast. 

XIX. 

ON  SIR  COD  THE  PERFUMED. 

That  COD  can  get  no  widow,  yet  a  knight, 
I  scent  the  cause  :  he  wooes  with  an  ill  sprite.1 

to  him.  Weever  was  the  author  of  a  work  in  folio,  which  i* 
called  Funeral  Monuments,  and  is  a  miscellany  of  epitaphs,  and 
inscriptions,  collected  from  ancient  monuments  in  various  parts 
of  the  kingdom.  WHAL. 

1  He  icooes  "with  an  ill  sprite.}  A  play  on  the  double  meaning 
of  the  last  word,  an  evil  genius  or  spirit,  and  a  stinking  breath. 
To  this  last  sense  of  sprite,  young  Knowell  alludes  in  the  in- 
flated panegyric  with  which  he  puzzles  and  pla)s  upon  master 
Stephen  :  "  A  wight  that  hitherto,  his  evrry  step  hath  lift  the 
stamp  of  a  great  foot  behind  him,  as  every  w  ord  the  sarour  of 
a  strong  spirit."  The  name  of  the  person  to  whom  this  epigram 
is  addressed  is  borrowed  from  the  cod  or  little  purse  in  which 
civet  and  other  perfumes  were  kept  in  the  poet's  days. 

In  the  Woman's  Prize,  Livia  says  to  her  lover, 

"  Hold  this  certain- 
Selling,  which  is  a  sin  unpardonable, 
Of  counterfeit  cods,  or  musty  English  crocus, 
Switches,  or  stones  for  the  tooth. ach,  sooner  finds  me 
Than  that  drawn  Jox  Moroso."     A.  1   S.  2. 

Upon  whirl)  Mr.  We bei  observes  :  "  In  some  MS.  notes  which 
have  bi'fii  procure  d  tor  me.  c»fl  is  explained,  a  pillow,  a  belly. 
I  am  ahaiu  tie  allusion  is  not  so  delicate  "  The  v\  liter's  fears 
are  ab*-ut  as  uital  ,\s  those  ol  Mr.  i-tcevens,  from  whom  this 
miserable  cam  is  adopted  ;  h-s ignorance,  however,  lit  if,  as  well 
as  every  where  else,  is  sufficiently  real :  what  did  he  suppose 
Livia  to  mean  ?  Counterfeit  cods  are  spurious  or  adulterate  civet- 
bags,  and  nothing  more. 


EPIGRAMS.  165 

XX. 

To  THE  SAME. 

The  expense  in  odours  is  a  most  vain  sin, 
Except  thou  could'st,  sir  COD,  wear  them  within. 

XXI. 

ON  REFORMED  GAMESTER. 

Lord,  how  is  GAMESTER  chang'd  !  his  hair  close 

cut,* 

Hisneck  fenced  round  with  ruff,  his  eyes  half  shut! 
His  clothes  two  fashions  off,  and  poor !  his  sword 
Forbid  his  side,  and  nothing,  but  the  word, 
Quick  in  his  lips!  Who  hath  this  wonderwroughtr 
The  late  ta'en  bastinado.  So  I  thought. 
What  several  ways  men  to  their  calling  have  ! 
The  body's  stripes,  I  see,  the  soul  may  save. 

XXII. 

ON  MY  FIRST  DAUGHTER. 

Here  lies,  to  each  her  parents  ruth, 
MARY,  the  daughter  of  their  youth  ; 
Yet  all  heaven's  gifts  being  heaven's  due, 
It  makes  the  father  less  to  rue. 
At  six  months  end  she  parted  hence 
With  safety  of  her  innocence ; 

*  •  bis  hair  close  cut,  &c.]  These  are  the  characteristic 

marks  of  a  puritan,  which  Gamester  was  now  become.  The  word 
was  the  cant  phrase  for  the  Scripture,  which  was  profanely 
applied  to  ercry  incident  of  life.  This  is  an  epigram  of  all  times. 

M2 


164  EPIGRAMS. 

Whose  soul  heaven's  Queen,  whose  name  she 

bears,1 

In  comfort  of  her  mother's  tears, 
Hath  placed  amongst  her  virgin-train  : 
Where  while  that,  severed,  doth  remain, 
This  grave  partakes  the  fleshly  birth  ; 
Which  cover  lightly,  gentle  earth  ! 

XXIII. 
To  JOHN  DONNE/ 

DONNE,  the  delight  of  Phoebus  and  each  Muse, 
Who,  to  thy  one,  all  other  brains  refuse  ; 
Whose  every  work,  of  thy  most  early  wit, 
Came  forth  example,  and  remains  so,  yet: 
Longer  a  knowing  than  most  wits  do  live, 
And  which  no'  affection  praise  enough  can  give  ! 
To  it,  thy  language,  letters,  arts,  best  life, 
Which  might  with  half  mankind  maintain  a  strife; 
All  which  I  meant  to  praise,  and  yet  I  would; 
But  leave,  because  I  cannot  as  I  should  ! 

3  Whose  soul  hcaxeii's  Queen,  whose  name  she  bears."]  i.  e.  the 
virgin  Mary  ;  this  seems  to  hare  been  written,  when  our  poet 
was  a  convert  to  the  church  of  Rome.  WHAL. 

There  is  both  pathos,  and  beauty  in  this  little  piece  :  Jonson 
appears  to  have  been  a  most  kind  and  affectionate  parent,  and 
if,  as  Fuller  says,  he  did  not  always  meet  with  an  equal  return 
of  duty  and  love,  those  who  denied  it  to  him  have  the  greater 
sin.  It  is  here  the  proper  place,  to  observe  that  our  poet  is  by 
far  the  best  writer  of  epitaphs  that  this  country  ever  possessed. 

+  John  Donne.]  The  celebrated  Dean  of  St.  Paul's.  His  cha- 
racter is  excellently  giren  in  this  affectionate  memorial  of  his 
virtues  ;  indeed  no  one  knew  him  better,  or  valued  him  more 
justly  than  Jonson.  The  domestic  life  of  this  eminent  man  is 
admirably  written  by  Izaac  Walton  ;  and  a  severe,  though  not 
unjust,  estimate  of  his  poetical  merits  will  be  found  in  Dr. 
Johnson's  Life  of  Cowley. 


EPIGRAMS.  165 

XXIV. 
To  THE  PARLIAMENT. 

There's  reason  good,  that  you  good  laws  should 

make : 
Men's  manners  ne'er  were  viler,  for  your  sake. 

XXV. 

ON  SIR  VOLUPTUOUS  BEAST. 

While  BEAST  instructs  his  fair  and  innocent  wife, 
In  the  past  pleasures  of  his  sensual  life, 
Telling  the  motions  of  each  petticoat, 
And  how  his  Ganymede  mov'd,  and  how  his  goat, 
And  now  her  hourly  her  own  cucquean  makes, 
In  varied  shapes,  which  for  his  lust  she  takes  : 
What  doth  he  else,  but  say,  Leav  e  to  be  chaste, 
Just  wife,  and  to  change  me,  make  woman's  haste ! 

XXVI. 

ON  THE  SAME. 

Than  his  chaste  wife  though  BEAST  now  know 

no  more, 
He  'adulters  still  :  his  thoughts  lie  with  a  whore. 

XXVII. 

ON  SIR  JOHN  ROE.* 

In  place  of  scutcheons  that  should  deck  thy  herse, 
Take  better  ornaments,  my  tears  and  verse. 

5  On  sir  John  Roe.]    Probably  the  son  of  sir  Thomas  Roe, 
knt,  an  eminent  merchant  of  London,  who  after  passing  with 


166"  EPIGRAMS. 

If  any  sword    could    save    from  Fates',  ROE'S 
could  ; 

If  any  Muse  outlive  their  spight,  his  can; 
If  any  friends' tears  could  restore,  his  would; 

If  an\  pious  life  ere  lifted  man 
To  heaven  ;  his  hath  :  ()  happy  state  !  wherein 
We,  sad  for  him,  may  glory,  and  not  sin. 

XXVIII. 
ON  DON  SURLY. 

Don  SURLY,  to  aspire  the  glorious  name 
Of  a  great  man,  and  to  be  thought  the  same, 
Makes  serious  use  of  all  great  trade  he  knows. 
He  speaks  to  men  with  a  rhinocerote's  nose,' 
Which  he  thinks  great ;  and  so  reads  verses  too  : 
And  that  is  done,  as  lie  saw  great  men  do. 
He  has  tympanies  of  business  in  his  face, 
And  can  forget  men's  names,  with  a  great  grace. 
He  will  both  argue,  and  discourse  in  oaths, 
Both  which  are  great :    and  laugh  at  ill-made 

clothes  ; 

That's  gi  eater,  yet :  to  cry  his  own  up  neat. 
He  doth  at  meals,  alone,  his  pheasant  eat, 

distinguished  credit  through  erery  municipal  honour,  died  full 
of  years  and  good  works  about  1570.  This  worthy  citizen, 
•whose  charity  was  directed  by  his  piety  to  the  most  useful  pur- 
poses, left  four  sons,  who  appear  to  hare  trod  in  the  footsteps 
of  their  father. 

6  He  sptaks  to  men  with  a  rhinocerote's  nose^]  i.  e.  I  believe, 
with  a  nose  date,  or  curled  up  into  a  kind  of  sneer,  scornfully, 
contemptuously.  This,  at  least,  is  the  meaning  of  the  expression 
in  Martial's  lively  address  to  his  book: 

Nescis,  htu  nescis  domincej'astidia  Romt*9 
Crede  mihi^  nimium  Martia  turba  sapit  ; 

Majorca  nusquam  ronchi,  juvenesgue  scnesgve, 
Et  pueri  nasum  Rhinocerotis  habent  I    lib.  i.  IT. 


EPIGRAMS.  167 

Which  is  main  greatness  ;  and  at  his  still  board, 
He  drinks  to  no  man  :  that's,  too,  like  a  lord. 
He  keeps  another's  wife,  which  is  a  spice 
Of  solemn  greatness;  and  he  dares    at  dice, 
Blaspheme  God  greatly;  or  some  po  <r  hind  beat, 
That  breathes  in  his  dog's  way  :7  and  this  is  great. 
Nay  more,  for  greatness  sake,  he  will  be  one 
May  hear  my  epigrams,  but  like  of  none. 
SURLY,  use  other  arts,  these  only  can 
Style  thee  a  most  great  fool,  but  no  great  man. 

XXIX. 
To  SIR  ANNUAL  TILTER. 

TILTER,  the  most  may  admire  thee,  though  notl ; 
And  thou,  right  guiltless,  may'st  plead  to  it, Why? 
For  thy  late  sharp  device.   1  say  'tis  fit 
All  brains,  at  times  of  triumph,  should  run  wit: 
For  then  our  water -conduits  do  run  wine; 
But  that's  put  in,  thou'lt  say.  Why,  so  is  thine. 

1  That  breathes  in  his  dog's  way.]  "  Breathes  (Whalley  says) 
is  intended  to  express  what  Shakspeare  means  when  he  de- 
scribes such  as  u  bieathe  in  their  watering."  There  is  no  end 
to  this  nonsense,  since  Steevens  first,  set  it  abroach.  I  have 
already  reliered  Shakspeare  from  the  obloquy  of  so  filthy  a 
meaning,  (vol  ii.  p.  33,)  and  to  take  away  every  possible  plea 
for  its  bo  ng  charged  upon  him  again,  I  will  now  add  the  fol- 
lowing decisive  passage.  The  words  of  Shakspeare  are  :  "They 
call  drinking  deep  dying  scarlet,  and  when  you  breathe  in 
your  watering,"  (stop  to  take  breath  in  your  draught,)  "  they 
cry  hem  !  and  bid  you  play  it  off."  The  parallel  passage  follows  : 

"  Fill  Will  his  beaker,  he  will  never  flinch 
To  give  a  full  quart  pot  the  emptie  pinch. 
He'll  looke  unto  your  waters  well  enough, 
And  hath  an  eye  that  no  man  leaves  a  snuffe : 
A  pox  of  piece-meale  drinking  I  William  sayes, 
Play  it  away  ;  will  have  no  stoppes  and  stayes  ; 
Blew*  drink  is  odious,"  &c.  S.  Rowland,  Sat.  6. 


168  EPIGRAMS. 

XXX. 

To  PERSON  GUILTY. 

GUILTY,  be  wise  ;  and  though  thou  know'st  the 

crimes 

Be  thine,  I  tax,  yet  do  not  own  my  rhymes : 
Twere  madness  in  thee,  to  hetray  thy  fame, 
And  person  to  the  world,  ere  I  thy  name. 

XXXI. 

ON  BANKS  THE  USURER. 

BANKS  feels  no  lameness  of  his  knotty  gout, 
His  monies  travel  for  him  in  and  out: 
And  though  the  soundest  legs  go  every  day, 
He  toils  to  be  at  hell,  as  soon  as  they. 

XXXII. 
ON  SIR  JOHN  ROE.* 

What  two  brave  perils  of  the  private  sword 
Could  not  effect,  nor  all  the  Furies  do, 

That  self-divided  Belgia  did  afford; 

What  not  the  envy  of  the  seas  reach'd  to, 

*  Jonson  appears  to  have  sincerely  loved  and  lamented  this 
excellent  person,  of  whose  actions  I  can  give  the  reader  no 
account.  He  seems  to  have  followed  the  business  of  a  merchant- 
venturer  at  first,  like  his  father,  and  subsequently,  in  imitation 
of  many  gallant  spirits  in  those  days,  to  have  embarked  in  the 
wars  of  the  Netherlands.  He  died,  however,  in  peace,  at  home. 

Among  Whalley's  loose  papers,  I  find  another  memorial  of 
our  author's  regard  for  him.  It  seems  to  be  taken  from  the 
blank  leaf  of  a  Persius,  with  which  he  had  presented  him.  Why 


EPIGRAMS.  169 

The  cold  of  Mosco,  and  fat  Irish  air, 

His  often  change  of  clime,  though  not  of  mind, 

All  could  not  work ;  at  home,  in  his  repair, 
Was  his  blest  fate,  but  our  hard  lot  to  find. 

Which    shews,    wherever    death    doth     please 
t.'  appear, 

Seas,  serenes,  swords,  shot,  sickness,  all  are  there. 


XXXIII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

I'll  not  offend  thee  with  a  vain  tear  more, 
Glad-mentioivd  ROE;  thouartbutgone  before, 
Whither  the  world  must  follow  :  and  I,  now, 
Breathe    to   expect  my  When,   and  make    my 

How. 
Which     if   most    gracious    heaven    grant  like 

thine, 
Who  wets  my  grave,1  can  be  no  friend  of  mine. 

Whalley  chose  to  give  us  vile  English  initead  of  copying  the 
elegant  Latin  of  the  original,  I  cannot  tell. 

"  To  sir  John  Roe,  his  most  approved  friend,  this  his  love 
and  delight,  the  most  learned  of  Satirists,  PERSIUS,  with  a 
most  learned  commentary,  is  consecrated  by  Ben.  Jonson,  who 
willingly,  deservedly,  gives  and  dedicates  it.  Nor  is  a  parent 
more  to  be  preferred  by  me  than  a  friend." 

9  Seas,  sen-nes.  &c.]  i.  e.  a  blast  of  warm  air ;  a  blight,  or 
mildew,  vol.  iii.  p.  255.  The  most  miserable  pun  on  record, 
(which  yet  was  repeated  at  every  table  in  Paris,)  was  made  by 
the  marquis  of  Bievre  on  this  word.  Mad.  d'Angivilliers  had  a 
favourite  serin,  (a  canary-bird,)  and  the  marquis,  on  coming 
into  her  drawing-room,  gravely  put  on  his  hat,  with  this  notable 
piece  of  wit :  *'  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon — but  I  am  afraid 
of  the  serein  !"  The  marquis  was  a  great  reader  of  Joe  Miller 
— so  were  not  the  French  in  general :  his  second  hand  wit 
therefore  was  in  high  request. 

1  Who  -wets  my  grave,  &c.J  This  is  a  beautiful  little  vale- 
diction ;  there  is  a  simple  grandeur  of  thought,  a  high  moral 
dignity  in  all  the  addresses  of  Jonson,  (for  there  are  more  to 


EPIGRAMS. 

XXXIV. 
OF  DEATH. 

He  that  fears  death,  or  mourns  it,  in  the  just, 
Shews  of  the  Resurrection  little  trust. 

XXXV. 

To  KING  JAMES. 

Who  would  not  be  thy  subject,  JAMES,  t'  obey 
A  prince  that  rules  by'  example,  more  than  sway? 
Whose  manners  draw,   more  than  thy  powers 

constrain 

And  in  this  short  time  of  thy  happiest  reign, 
Hast  purg'd  thy  realms,  as  we  have  now  no  cause 
Left  us  of  fear,  but  first  our  crimes,  then  laws. 
Like  aids  'gainst  treasons  who  hath  found  before, 
And  than  in  them,  how  could  we  know  God  more? 
First  thou  preserved  wert  our  king  to  be ; 
And  since,  the  whole  land  was  preserv'd  for  thee.* 

XXXVI. 

To  THE  GHOST  OF  MARTIAL. 

Martial,  thou  gav'st  far  nobler  epigrams 
To  thy  DOMITIAN,  than  I  can  my  JAMES; 

come)  to  this  distinguished  family,  which  does  no  less  honour 
to  them  than  to  the  poet. 

*  And  since  thr  uhole  land  -was  preserved  for  thee.']  This  epi- 
gram was  probabl)  written  in  1604,  as  the  last  allusion  is  to 
the  plague,  which  broke  out  in  London  soon  alter  the  death  of 
Elizabeth.  The  "  treasons"  spoken  of  just  above,  are  probably 
those  of  the  Gowries  and  sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


EPIGRAMS.  171 

But  in  my  royal  subject  T  pass  thee, 

Thou  flatter'dst  thine,  mine  cannot  flatter'd  be. 

XXXVII. 
ON  CHEVERIL  THE  LAWYER. 

No  cause,  nor  client  fat,  will  CHEVERIL  leese, 
But  as  they  come,  on  both  sides  he  takes  fees, 
And  pleaseth  both :  for  while  he  melts  his  grease, 
For  this  ;  that  wins,  for  whom  he  holds  his  peace. 

XXXVIII. 
To  PERSON  GUILTY. 

GUILTY,  because  I  bade  you  late  be  wise,5 
And  to  conceal  your  ulcers,  did  advise, 
You  laugh  when  you  are  touch'd,and  long  before 
Any  man  else,  you  clap  your  hands  and  roar, 
And  cry,  good!  good!  this  quite  perverts  my 

sense, 

And  lies  so  far  from  wit,  'tis  impudence. 
Believe  it,  GUILTY,  if  you  lose  your  shame, 
I'll  lose  my  modesty,  and  tell  your  name. 

XXXIX. 

ON  OLD  COLT. 

For  all  night-sins,  with  others  wives  unknown, 
COLT  now  doth  daily  penance  in  his  own. 

3  GUILTY,  because  I  bade  you  late  be  wise.}  See  Epig.  XXX. 
This  is  an  excellent  epigram;  replete  with  strong  sense,  and 
keen  observation  of  mankind. 


172  EPIGRAMS. 

XL. 
ON  MARGARET  RATCLIFFE. 

M  arble,  weep,  for  thou  dost  cover 

A  dead  beauty  underneath  thee, 

R  ich  as  nature  could  bequeath  thee  : 

G  rant  then,  no  rude  hand  remove  her. 

A  11  the  gazers  on  the  skies 

R  ead  not  in  fair  heaven's  story, 

E  xpresser  truth,  or  truer  glory, 

T  han  they  might  in  her  bright  eyes. 

R  are  as  wonder  was  her  wit ; 
A  nd,  like  nectar,  ever  flowing: 
T  ill  time,  strong  by  her  bestowing, 
C  onquer'd  hath  both  life  and  it; 
L  ife,  whose  grief  was  out  of  fashion 
I    n  these  times.  Few  so  have  rued 
F  ate  in  a  brother.  To  conclude,4 
F  or  wit,  feature,  and  true  passion, 
E  arth,  thou  hast  not  such  another. 

XLI. 
ON  GIPSY. 

GIPSY,  new  bawd,  is  turn'd  physician, 

And  gets  more  gold  than  all  the  college  can  : 


-Few  so  have  rued 


Fate  in  a  brother.]  Of  this  lady,  Margaret  Ratcliffe,  I  can 
give  the  reader  no  information.  She  was  probably  a  collateral 
branch  of  the  family  of  the  earl  of  Sussex,  for  the  marriage  of 
whose  daughter  JoHSon  wrote  the  beautiful  Masque  of  the  Hue 
and  Cry  after  Cupid.  From  a  subsequent  Epigram  I  collect  that 
she  had  five  brothers,  of  whom  she  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 
four  ;  two  in  the  field,  in  Ireland,  and  two  by  sickness,  in  the 
Low  Countries.  Jonson  had  reason,  therefore,  to  say  that  few- 
had  rued  such  fate  in  their  relations. 


EPIGRAMS.  173 

Such  her  quaint  practice  is,  so  it  allures, 

For  what  she  gave,  a  whore;  a  bawd,  she  cures. 

XLIL 

ON  GILES  AND  JOAN. 

Who  says  that  GILES  and  JOAN  at  discord  be? 
Th'  observing  neighbours  no  such  mood  can  see. 
Indeed,  poor  Giles  repents  he  married  ever; 
But  that  his  Joan  doth  too.     And  Giles  would 

never, 

By  his  free-will,  be  in  Joan's  company : 
No  more  would  Joan  he  should.     Giles  riseth 

early, 

And  having  got  him  out  of  doors  is  glad ; 
The  like  is  Joan  :  but  turning  home  is  sad ; 
And  so  is  Joan.  Oftimes  when  Giles  doth  find 
Harsh  sights  at  home,  Giles  wisheth  he  were 

blind ; 

All  this  doth  Joan  :  or  that  his  long-yearn'd  life 
Were  quite  out-spun;  the  like  wish  hath  his  wife. 
The  children  that  he  keeps,  Giles  swears  are  none 
Of  his  begetting ;  and  so  swears  his  Joan. 
In  all  affections  she  concurreth  still. 
If  now,  with  man  and  wife,  to  will  and  nill 
The  self-same  things,*  a  note  of  concord  be: 
I  know  no  couple  better  can  agree ! 

XLIII. 
To  ROBERT  EARL  OF  SALISBURY.' 

What  need  hast  thou  of  me,  or  of  my  muse, 
Whose  actions  so  themselves  do  celebrate  r 

s to  will  and  nill 

The  self. same  things,  &c.]  Idem  velle  atque  nolle,  ea  demum 
amicitia  est. 

*  Robert  earl  of  Salisbury."]    Younger  son  of  lord  Burleigh. 


174  EPIGRAMS. 

Which  should  thy  country's  love  to  speak  refuse, 

Her  foes  enough  would  fame  thee  in  their  hate. 
Tofove,  great  men  were  glad  of  poets  ;  now,  ' 

I,  not  the  worst,  am  covetous  of  thee : 
Yet  dare  not  to  my  thought  least  hope  allow 

Of  adding  to  thy  fame  ;  thine  may  to  me, 
When  in  my  book  men  read  hut  (  EC  IL'S  name, 

And  what  I  write  thereof  find  far.  aud  free 
From  servile  flattery,  common  poets'  shame, 

As  thou  stand'st  clear  of  the  necessity. 

XLIV. 

ON  CHUFFE, 

BANKS  the  Usurer's  Kinsman. 

CHUFFE,  lately  rich  in  name,  in  chattels,  goods, 
And  rich  in  issue  to  inherit  all, 

He  and  his  elder  brother, William,  were  both  created  earls  in  the 
same  day.  Robert  in  the  morning  ;  to  give  his  descendants 
precedency  of  those  of  William. 

"  This  man,"  Walpole  says, "  who  had  the  fortune  or  misfortune" 
(why  misfortune  ?  but  this  poor  stuff  was  meant  for  wit)  "  to 
please  both  Elizabeth  and  James  the  First  ;  who  like  the  son  of 
the  duke  of  Lerma  had  the  uncommon  fate  of  succeeding  his 
own  father  as  prime  minister,  and  who  unlike  that  son  of 
Lerma  did  not,  though  treacherous  to  erery  body  else,  supplant 
his  own  father,  is  sufficiently  known  ;  his  public  story  may  be 
found  in  all  our  histories,  his  particular  in  the  Biographia  "  Cat. 
of  Royal  and  Noble  Authors.  In  none  of  these,  however,  did 
Walpole  look  for  the  u  story"  of  this  eminent  state-man  ;  but 
in  the  ignorant,  impure,  and  scandalous  reports  of  the  W  Idons, 
Peytons,  and  other  puritanical  disseminators  of  fa  srhooii,  as 
better  suited  to  the  base  and  envious  nature  of  his  own  spirit. 
When  the  time  shall  come  for  Walpolo  himst  ll  to  bt-  added  to 
the  number  of  *'  noble  authors,''  by  a  sterner  biographer  than 
Mr.  Parke,  he  will,  if  lairly  represented,  be  lound  to  be  one  of 
the  most  odiou»  and  contemptible  of  the  whole"  Catalogue." 


EPIGRAMS.  175 

Ere  blacks  were  bought  for  his  own  funeral, 
Saw  all  his  race  approach  the  blacker  floods : 
He    meant  they   thither  should   make  swift 

repair, 
When  he  made  him  executor,  might  be  heir. 


XLV. 

ON  MY  FIRST  SON. 

Farewell,  thou  child  of  my  right  hand,  and  joy  ;' 
My  sin  was  too  much  hope  of  thee,  lov'd  boy: 

7  Farewell,  thou  child  of  my  right  hand,  and  joy.]  The  ex- 
pression here  must  be  explained :  thou  child  of  my  right  hand 
shews  us  his  son's  name  was  Benjamin  ;  that  word  being  usually 
taken  as  a  compound  of  two  Hebrew  words,  which  imply  that 
meaning.  But  some  modern  commentators  more  justly  interpret 
the  word  Benjamin  to  signify  the  son  of  days,  or  of  old  age. 
Benjamin  was  the  youngest  son,  and  probably  born  when  hit 
father  was  advanced  in  years.  WHAL. 

My  predecessor  seems  to  write  without  reading  what  he  is 
about  to  explain.  The  title  declares  the  Epitaph  to  be  written 
on  hisjirst  son  ;  Benjamin,  says  the  critic,  was  the  youngest  «o«, 
and  probably  born  when  the  father  was  advanced  in  years ! 
This  is  sad  trifling ;  but  Whalley  appears  to  me  to  have  con- 
tented himself  upon  all  occasions,  with  second-hand  authorities, 
which  are  commonly  worse  than  none  at  all.  In  one  of  the 
spiteful  attempts  made  to  injure  Jonson  by  his  "  friend"  Drum- 
mond,  he  relates  the  following  anecdote,  which  he  had  (he  says) 
from  the  poet's  own  mouth.  While  the  plague  raged  in  London, 
he  was  on  a  visit  with  Camden,  at  the  house  of  sir  Robert 
Cotton,  in  the  country.  Here  he  saw,  in  a  dream,  his  eldest 
son,  with  the  mark  of  a  bloody  cross  (the  token  of  the  plague) 
on  his  forehead.  Alarmed  at  this,  he  prayed  to  God  for  him, 
and  went  in  the  morning  to  Camdcn's  room,  and  told  him  what 
he  had  seen.  Camden  desired  him  not  to  be  dejected,  for  that 
it  was  merely  the  creation  of  his  own  fears  :  but  there  came  a 
letter  from  his  wife,  to  inform  him  that  the  child  was  dead  of 
the  plague.  Jonson  added,  that  his  son  appeared  to  him  of  a 


EPIGRAMS. 

Seven  years  thou  wertlent  to  me,  and  I  thee  pay, 

Exacted  by  thy  fate,  on  the  just  day. 

O,  could  I  lose  all  father,  now  !  for  why, 

Will  man  lament  the  state  he  should  envy  ? 

To  have  so  soon  scaped  world's,  and  flesh's  rage, 

And,  if  no  other  misery,  yet  age  ! 

Rest  in  soft  peace,  and  ask'd,  say  here  doth  lie 

BEN  JONSON  his  best  piece  of  poetry  : 

For  whose  sake  henceforth  all  his  vows  be  such, 

As  what  he  loves  may  never  like  too  much. 


XLVI. 

To  SIR  LUCKLESS  WOO-ALL. 

Is  this  the  sir,  who,  some  waste  wife  to  win, 
A  knight-hood  bought,  to  go  a  wooing  in? 
'Tis  LUCKLESS,  he  that  took  up  one  on  band 
To  pay  at's  day  of  marriage.  By  my  hand 
The  knight-wright's  cheated  then  !   he'll  never 

pay: 
Yes,  now  he  wears  his  knighthood  every  day. 

manly  stature,  and  of  such  growth  as  he  thought  he  would  be 
at  the  Resurrection."  There  is  enough  in  this  narrative  to  con- 
vince any  one  but  the  vile  calumniator  who  reports  it,  that  the 
fond  father  was  not,  as  he  asserts,  void  of  all  religion  : — but  to 
the  purpose  of  the  note.  The  plague  broke  out  in  1603,  the 
child  was  then  in  his  seventh  year  ;  he  was  born  therefore  in 
1596,  when  Jonson,  instead  of  being  '*  advanced  in  years,"  was 
just  turned  of  two  and  twenty ! 

The  last  couplet  contains  a  pretty  allusion  to  the  cheerlesi 
advice  of  Martial,  in  one  of  his  melancholy  moods: 

Si  vitare  velis  acerba  qu&dam, 
Et  triste.s  animi  cavere  marsus, 
Nulli  te  facias  nimis  sodulem^ 
Guudebis  minus*  at  minus  dolcbit. 


EPIGRAMS.  177 

'      XLVII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Sir  LUCKLESS,  troth,  for  luck's  sake  pass  by  one  ; 
He  that  wooes  every  widow,  will  get  none. 

XLVIII. 
ON  MUNGRIL  ESQUIRE. 

His  bought  arms  MUNG'  not  liked  ;   for  his  first 

day 

Of  bearing  them  in  field,  he  threw  'em  away:* 
And  hath  no  honour  lost,  our  duellists  say. 

XLIX. 
To  PLAYWRIGHT. 

PLAYWRIGHT   me  reads,    and    still  my  verses 

damns, 

He  says  I  want  the  tongue  of  epigrams  ; 
I  have  no  salt,  no  bawdry  he  doth  mean  ;* 
For  witty,  in  his  language,  is  obscene. 


-For  his  first  day 


Of  bearing  them  in  field,  he  threw  'cm  away."]  The  arms  wer* 
usually  pourtrayed  upon  the  shield  ;  so  that  on  his  entering  into 
battle,  he  flung  away  his  shield,  that  he  might  not  be  encum- 
bered in  his  flight.  This  marks  him  for  his  cowardice.  WHAL. 

Jonson  might  have  thrown  his  epigram  after  Mungril's  arms, 
with  no  more  loss  of  credit  than  the  other  of  honour. 

9  /  hare  no  salt ,  no  bawdry  he  doth  wieare.]  This  expression 
sufficiently  justifies  Pope's  emendation  of  the  passage  in  Hamlet, 
"•  I  remember  one  said  there  were  no  salts  in  the  lines  to  make 
the  matter  savoury."  The  old  copies  read  sallets,  which  being 
akin  to  nonsense  is,  according  to  custom,  replaced  in  the  text 

VOL.  VIII.  N 


178  EPIGRAMS. 

Playwright,  I  loath  to  have  thy  manners  known 
In  my  chaste  book  ;  profess  them  in  thine  own. 

L. 

To  SIR  COD, 

Leave,  COD,  tobacco-like,  burnt  gums  to  take, 
Or  fumy  clysters,  thy  moist  lungs  to  bake : 
Arsenic  would  thee  fit  for  society  make. 

LI. 
To  KING  JAMES. 

Upon  the  happy  false  rumour  of  his  death,  the  two 
and  twentieth  day  of  March, 
1606.* 

That  we  thy  loss  might  know,  and  thou  our  love, 
Great  heaven  did  well  to  give  ill  fame  free 
wing ; 

Which  though  it  did  but  panic  terror  prove, 
And  far  beneath  least  pause  of  such  a  king  ; 

by  the  last  editors  ; — though,  as  Mr.  Steevens  adds,  "  the  al- 
teration of  Pope  may  be,  in  some  measure,  supported  by  the 
following  passage  in  Decker's  Satiromastix — "  a  prepared  troop 
of  gallants,  who  shall  distaste  every  unsalted  line  in  their  fly- 
blown comedies/'  If  the  change  be  in  some  measure  supported 
by  this  quotation,  it  is  altogether  fixed  by  the  line  above,  of 
which  none  of  the  commentators  take  the  slightest  notice. 

1  The  best  comment  upon  this  little  piece  is  to  be  found  in 
Winwood's  State  Papers,  in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Chamberlaine  to 
that  minister,  dated  April  5th,  1606  ;  from  which  it  appears 
that  Jonson  has  not  exaggerated  the  common  feeling,  which  was 
the  more  alive  as  the  story  came  so  quickly  upon  the  discovery 
of  the  Gunpowder  Plot.  The  report  was  that  the  king  had 
been  stabbed  with  a  poisoned  knife,  at  Woking,  in  Surrey, 
where  he  was  hunting.  Mr*  Lodge  has  also  a  letter  on  the 


EPIGRAMS.  179 

Yet  give  thy  jealous  subjects  leave  to  doubt, 
Who  this  thy  scape  from  rumour  gratulate, 

No  less  than  if  from  peril ;  and  devout, 
Do  beg  thy  care  unto  thy  after-state. 

For  we,  that  have  our  eyes  still  in  our  ears, 

Look  not  upon  thy  dangers,  but  our  fears. 


LII. 

To  CENSORIOUS  COURTLING. 

COURTLING,  I  rather  thou  should'st  utterly 
Dispraise  my  work,  than  praise  it  frostily  : 
When  I  am  read,  thou  feign'st  a  weak  applause, 
As  if  thou  wert  my  friend,  but  lack'dst  a  cause. 
This  but  thy  judgment  fools  :  the  other  way 
Would  both  thy  folly  and  thy  spite  betray. 

subject  from  the  earl  of  Kent  to  the  earl  of  Shrewsbury,  of 
which  a  part  is  subjoined. 

"  My  very  hon'ble  good  Lo.  I  received  yesterday  yor 
hon'ablc  and  frendley  lines  by  John  Sibley,  whereby  it  pleased 
yor  LP  to  adv'tise  me  of  the  untruthe  of  those  bruits  spread 
abroad  of  so  horrible  a  treason  against  his  Majtia*  precious 
life.  Theis  false  bruits  come  very  speedily  not  only  to  the  Privie 
Councell  at  the  Corte,  and  so  to  London,  but  also  into  theis 
parts,  and  not  onlike,  into  a  great  p'te  of  the  kingdom.  All 
thother  daye  being  Sondaye,  we  here  knew  nothinge  certenly 
to  the  contrary  but  that  the  worst  might  be  feared  :  but  the 
greater  astonishment  this  sudden  fearefull  rumour  hath  ev'y 
where  occasioned,  the  more  singular  comfort  and  joye  will  now 
redounde  to  ev'ie  true  harted  subject  by  the  report  of  his  Malie" 
safetie,  for  wtk  they  shall  have  so  just  cause  to  sounde  forth 
God's  praise,  together  with  incessant  prayers  for  his  Highnes 
longe  happie  and  prosperous  raigne  ovr  us."  Wilson's  account 
of  the  confusion  and  dismay  which  took  place  on  this  occasion, 
is  given  in  yet  stronger  language. 


Ns 


180  E  P  I  G  RAM  S. 

LIII. 
To  OLDEND  GATHERER. 

Long-gathering  OLDEND,  I  did  fear  thee  wise, 
When  having  pill'd  a  book  which  no  man  buys, 
Thou  wert  content  the  author's  name  to  lose : 
But  when,  in  place,  thou  didst  the  patron's  choose, 
It  was  as  if  thou  printed  hadst  an  oath, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  thou  wert  both ; 
And  that,  as  puritans  at  baptism  do, 
Thou  art  the  father,  and  the  witness  too. 
For,  but  thy  self,  where,  out  of  motley,'s  he* 
-Could  save  that  line  to  dedicate  to  thee  ? 

LIV. 
ON  CHEVERIL. 

CHEVEHIL  cries  out  my  verses  libels  are; 
And  threatens  the  Star-chamber,  and  the  Bar. 
What  are  thy  petulant  pleadings,  Cheveril,  then, 
That  quit'st  the  cause  so  oft,  and  rail'st  at  men? 

LV. 

To  FRANCIS  BEAUMONT. 

How  I  do  love  thee,  BEAUMONT,  and  thy  Muse, 
That  unto  me  dost  such  religion  use  ! 
How  I  do  fear  myself,  that  am  not  worth 
The  least  indulgent  thought  thy  pen  drops  forth! 

*  Wheret  out  of  motley, 's  he ,  &c.]  i  c.  where  out  of  a  motley, 
or  fool's  coat  is  he,  &c.  In  other  words,  who  but  a  fool  ?— 
Whalley  seems  to  have  strangely  mistaken  this  simple  expression. 


EPIGRAMS.  181 

At  once  thou  mak'st  me  happy,  and  unmak'st ; 
And  giving  largely  to  me,  more  thou  tak'st! 
What  fate  is  mine,  that  so  itself  bereaves  ? 
What  art  is  thine,  that  so  thy  friend  deceives? 
When  even  there,  where  most  thou  praisest  me, 
For  writing  better,  I  must  envy  thee.' 

LVI. 
ON  POET-APE. 

Poor  PoET-APE,4  that  would  be  thought  ourchief, 
Whose  works  are  e'en  the  frippery  of  wit, 

From  brokage  is  become  so  bold  a  thief, 
As  we,  the  robb'd,  leave  rage,  and  pity  it. 

At  first  he  made  low  shifts,  would  pick  and  glean, 
Buy  the  reversion  of  old  plays  ;   now  grown 

5  When  even  there,  where  most  thou  praisest  me, 

For  writing  better,  I  must  envy  thee.]  This  short  poem  is  an 
answer  to  a  letter,  which  Beaumont,  then  in  the  country  with 
Fletcher,  sent  to  Jonson,  together  with  two  unfinished  comedies. 
The  letter  is  an  excellent  one,  and  proves  the  interesting  frank- 
ness  and  cordiality  in  which  "  the  envious  and  malignant  Ben" 
lived  with  his  brother  poets.  The  passage  to  which  the  text 
more  immediately  applies  is  the  following  : 

— — — "  Fate  once  again 

Bring  me  to  thee,  who  canst  make  smooth  and  plain 

The  way  of  knowledge  for  me,  and  then  I, 

(Who  have  no  good  but  in  thy  company,) 

Protest  it  will  my  greatest  comfort  be, 

To  acknowledge  all  I  have  to  flow  from  thee. 

Ben,  when  these  scenes  are  perfect,  we'll  taste  wine, 

I'll  drink  thy  muse's  health,  thou  shalt  quaff  mine. 

*  Pour  Poet-ape,  &c.]  Mr.  Chalmers  will  take  it  on  his  death, 
that  the  person  here  meant  is  Shakspeare  !  Who  can  doubt  it  ? 
For  my  part,  I  am  persuaded,  that  GROOM  IDIOT  in  the  next 
epigram  is  also  Shakspeare  ;  and,  indeed,  generally,  that  he  is 
typified  by  the  words  "  fool  and  knave,"  so  exquisitely  de- 
scriptive of  him,  wherever  they  occur  in  Jonson. 


182  EPIGRAMS. 

To  a  little  wealth,  and  credit  in  the  scene, 
He  takes  up  all,  makes  each  man's  wit  his  own  : 

And,  told  of  this,  he  slights  it.   Tut,  such  crimes 
The  sluggish  gaping  auditor  devours  ; 

He  marks  not  whose  'twas  first :  and  after-times 
May  judge  it  to  be  his,  as  well  as  ours. 

Fool !  as  if  half  eyes  will  not  know  a  fleece 

From  locks  of  wool,  or  shreds  from  the  whole 
piece  ? 

LVII. 

ON  BAWDS  AND  USURERS. 

If,  as  their  ends,  their  fruits  were  so,  the  same, 
Bawdry  and  Usury  were  one  kind  of  game. 

LVIII. 
To  GKOOM  IDIOT. 

IDIOT,  last  night,  I  pray'd  thee  but  forbear 
To  read  my  verses  ;  now  I  must  to  hear : 
For  offering  with  thy  smiles  my  wit  to  grace, 
Thy  ignorance  still  laughs  in  the  wrong  place. 
And  so  my  sharpness  thou  no  less  disjoints, 
Than  thou  didst  late  my  sense,  losing  my  points. 
So  have  I  seen  at  Christmas-sports,  one  lost, 
And  hood-wink'd,  for  a  man  embrace  a  post. 

LIX. 
ON  SPIES. 

SPIES,  you  are  lights  in  state,  but  of  base  stuff, 
Who,  when  you've  burnt  your  selves  down  to 

the  snuff, 
Stink,  and  are  thrown  away.  End  fair  enough. 


EPIGRAMS.  183 

LX. 

To  WILLIAM  LORD  MOUNTEAGLE.* 

Lo,  what  my  country  should  have  done   (have 
raised 

An  obelisk,  or  column  to  thy  name, 
Or,  if  she  would  but  modestly  have  praised 

Thy  fact,  in  brass  or  marble  writ  the  same) 
I,  that  am  glad  of  thy  great  chance,  here  do  ! 

And  proud,  my  work  shall  out-last  common 

deeds, 
Durst  think  it  great,  and  worthy  wonder  too, 

But  thine,  for  which  I  do't,  so  much  exceeds  ! 
My  country's  parents  I  have  many  known ; 
But,  saver  of  my  country,  THEE  alone. 

5  To  William  lord  Mounteagle.~\  This  was  the  nobleman  who 
received  the  remarkable  letter  about  the  gun-powder  plot,  taken 
notice  of  by  our  historians,  and  which  gave  the  first  apprehen- 
sions of  what  was  then  contriving.  WHAL. 

Many  angry  attacks  have  been  made  on  James  for  assuming 
to  himself  the  merit  of  discovering  the  import  of  this  letter  ;  of 
which  Cecil  takes  the  credit  in  an  excellent  official  paper  to  sir 
Charles  Cornwallis,  (Win-wood  Mem.  vol.  ii.p.  170.)  but  surely 
without  much  cause.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  Cecil  allowed 
the  king  (who  was  always  tenacious  of  his  own  sagacity)  to 
imagine  that  he  had  detected  the  latent  meaning  ol  the  letter. 
Cecil  was  the  most  shrewd,  and  James  the  most  simple  and  un- 
suspicious of  mortals : — there  is,  therefore,  not  the  smallest 
reason  to  believe  that  the  king  meant  to  mislead  the  parliament, 
or  that  he  thought  otherwise  than  he  spoke.  We  deceive  our- 
selves  grossly,  if  we  assume  that  all  which  is  known  now  was 
known  at  the  time  when  the  event  took  place.  Cecil's  letter 
was  a  sealed  letter  to  the  parliament  and  the  nation  ;  and,  after 
all,  we  have  only  the  minister's  word  for  his  share  in  the  dis- 
covery. The  hint  to  lord  Mounteagle,  which  was  given  to  him 
by  his  sister,  Mary  Parker,  wife  of  Thomas  Habington,  and 
mother  of  the  amiable  and  virtuous  author  of  Custom,  was  not 
the  only  one  conveyed  to  the  earl  ot  Salisbury  on  this  mys- 
terious business. 


184  EPIGRAMS. 

LXI. 
To  FOOL,  OR  KNAVE. 

Thy  praise  or  dispraise  is  to  me  alike; 

One  doth  not  stroke  me,  nor  the  other  strike. 

LXII. 

To  PINE  LADY  WOULD-BE. 

Fine  madam  WOULD-BE,  wherefore  should  yon 

fear, 

That  love  to  make  so  well,  a  child  to  bear  ? 
The  world  reputes  you  barren:  but  I  know 
Your  pothecary,  and  his  drug,  says  no. 
Is  it  the  pain  affrights  ?  that's  soon  forgot. 
Or  your  complexion's  loss?  you  have  a  pot, 
That  can  restore  that.  Will  it  hurt  your  feature? 
To  make  amends,  you  are  thought  a  wholesome 

creature. 

What  should  the  cause  be  ?  oh,  you  live  at  court; 
And  there's  both  loss  of  time,  and  loss  of  sport, 
In  a  great  belly  :  Write  then  on  thy  womb, 
"  Of  the  not  born,  yet  buried,  here's  the  tomb." 

LXIII, 
To  ROBERT  EARL  OF  SALISBURY. 

Who  can  consider  thy  right  courses  run, 
With  what  thy  virtue  on  the  times  hath  won, 
And  not  thy  fortune?  who  can  clearly  see 
The  judgment  of  the  king  so  shine  in  thee  ; 
And  that  thou  seek'st  reward  of  thy  each  act, 
Not  from  the  public  voice,  but  private  fact  ? 


EPIGRAMS.  185 

Who  can  behold  all  envy  so  declined 
By  constant  suffering  of  thy  equal  mind  ; 
And  can  to  these  be  silent,  SALISBURY, 
Without  his,  thine,  and  all  time's  injury  ? 
Curst  be  his  Muse,  that  could  lie  dumb,  or  hid 
To  so  true  worth,  though  thou  thy  self  forbid. 


LXIV. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Upon  the  Accession  of  the  Treasurer  ship  to  him.' 

Not  glad,  like  those  that  have  new  hopes,  or  suits, 
With  thy  new  place,  bring  I  these  early  fruits 
Of  love,  and,  what  the  golden  age  did  hold 
A  treasure,  art ;  contemn'd  in  the  age  of  gold. 
Nor  glad  as  those,  that  old  dependents  be, 
To  see  thy  father's  rites  new  laid  on  thee. 
Nor  glad  for  fashion ;  nor  to  shew  a  fit 
Of  flattery  to  thy  titles  ;  nor  of  wit. 
But  I  am  glad  to  see  that  time  survive, 
Where  merit  is  not  sepulcher'd  alive  ; 
Where  good  men's  virtues  them  to  honours  bring, 
And  not  to  dangers  :  when  so  wise  a  king 

*  Enough  has  been  said  already  of  the  character  of  this  emi- 
nent statesman  ;  but  it  may  not  be  amiss,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, to  enumerate  the  periods  of  his  successive  honours.  He 
was  born  June  1,  1563,  knighted  in  1591  ;  sworn  of  the  privy 
council  in  the  following  August,  and  in  1596,  appointed  prin. 
cipal  secretary  of  state.  In  1599  he  was  made  master  of  the 
court  of  wards,  and  in  the  same  year  sent  to  France  to  nego- 
tiate a  peace  between  that  country  and  Spain.  On  the  accession 
of  king  James,  1603,  he  was  created  baron  Cecil,  and  viscount 
Cranboni,  and  in  1605,  earl  of  Salisbury.  In  1608,  (which  is 
therefore  the  date  of  this  epigram)  he  was  created  LORD  HIGH 
TREASURER  ;  and  in  this  post  he  died  May  24,  1C12. 


136  EPIGRAMS. 

Contends  to  have  worth  enjoy,  from  his  regard, 
As  her  own  conscience,  still,  the  same  reward. 
These,  noblest  CECIL,  labour'd  in  my  thought, 
Wherein  what  wonder  see  thy  namehath  wrought ! 
That  whilst  I  meant  but  thine  to  gratulate, 
I  have  sung  the  greater  fortunes  of  our  state. 

LXV. 

To  MY  MUSE. 

Away,  and  leave  me,  thou  thing  most  abhorr'd, 
That  hast  betray'd  me  to  a  worthless  lord; 
Made  me  commit  most  fierce  idolatry 
To  a  great  image  through  thy  luxury  : 
Be  thy  next  master's  more  unlucky  muse, 
And,  as  thou'st  mine,  his  hours  and  youth  abuse, 
Get  him  the  time's  long  grudge,  the  court's  ill 

will ; 

And  reconcil'd,  keep  him  suspected  still. 
Make  him  lose  all  his  friends;  and,  which  is  worse, 
Almost  all  ways  to  any  better  course. 
With  me  thou  leav'stan  happier  muse  than  thee, 
And  which  thou  brought'st  me,  welcome  poverty: 
She  shall  instruct  my  after-thoughts  to  write 
Things  manly,  and  not  smelling  parasite. 
But  I  repent  me  :  stay — Whoe'er  is  raised, 
For  worth  he  has  not,  he  is  tax'd  not  praised. 

LXVI. 
To  SIR  HENRY  GARY.' 

That  neither  fame,  nor  love  might  wanting  be 
To  greatness,  CARY,  I  sing  that  and  thce; 

7  Sir  Henry  Cary.]    Fiist  lord  Falkland,  and  father  of  the 
celebrated  Lucius  lord  Falkland,  who  acted  so  conspicuous  and 


EPIGRAMS.  187 

Whose  house,  if  it  no  other  honour  had, 
In  only  thee,  might  be  both  great  and  glad  : 
Who,  to  upbraid  the  sloth  of  this  our  time, 
Durst  valour  make,  almost,  but  not  a  crime. 
Which  deed  I  know  not,  whether  were  more  high, 
Or,  thou  more  happy,  it  to  justify 
Against  thy  fortune  ;  when  no  foe,  that  day, 
Could  conquer  thee,  but  chance,  who  did  betray. 
Love  thy  great  loss,  which  a  renown  hath  won, 
To  live  when  Broeck  not  stands,  nor  Roor  doth 
run :  * 

noble  a  part  in  the  Rebellion.  Sir  Henry  was  also  a  very  dis- 
tinguished character  as  a  statesman  and  soldier.  He  had  been 
master  of  the  Jewel  Office  to  Elizabeth,  was  made  a  knight  of 
the  Bath  at  the  creation  of  Prince  Henry,  and  soon  after  lord 
deputy  of  Ireland.  The  intimacy  of  Jonson  with  this  family  (for 
he  was  much  endeared  to  the  son  as  well  as  father)  is  not  a 
little  to  his  credit ;  but,  indeed,  this  great  poet,  who  is  repre- 
sented by  Steevens  and  his  followers  as  little  better  than  an 
obscure  garretteer,  lived  on  terms  of  honourable  familiarity  with 
all  the  genius,  worth,  and  rank  of  his  age. 

8  "  The  castle  and  river,  (Jonson  says)  near  where  he  was 
taken."  It  appears  from  a  letter  of  sir  Thomas  Edmonds  (resi- 
dent Ambassador  with  the  Archduke,  at  Brussels)  that  while 
Spinola  was  engaged  in  securing  the  passage  of  the  Roer  by  the 
erection  of  a  battery,  an  attempt  was  made  to  surprise  the 
co?ering  party  by  count  Maurice.  The  action  was  short  but 
severe,  and  in  the  end,  the  Count  was  obliged  to  retreat.  Some 
officers  of  rank  fell  on  each  side,  and  Spinola  made  some  pri- 
soners, "  among  whom,"  Sir  Thomas  says,  "  were  certain 
English  gentlemen,  whereof  the  principal  are  sir  Henry  Carey  ^ 
and  Mr.  Radcliffe,  brother  to  sir  John  Radcliffe,  (and  to  Mar~ 
garet,)  and  one  captain  Pygot."  Win-wood's  Mem.  vol.  ii.  145. 
This  letter  is  dated  21st  October,  1605  ;  and  the  action  took 
place  a  few  days  before. 

The  capture  of  sir  Henry  Carey  seems  to  have  been  viewed  by 
the  Spanish  court  as  a  matter  of  considerable  moment,  and  it  re- 
quired all  the  influence  of  Cecil,  and  all  the  dexterity  of  sir  Charles 
Cornwallis,  our  ambassador  at  Madrid,  to  procure  his  release. 
"  In  conclusion,"  sir  Charles  writes  to  the  earl  of  Salisbury,  "  I 
moved  him  (the  duke  of  Lerma)  for  sir  Henry  Carey  ;  saying 
'  I  was  thereunto  sollicited  by  the  entreatieof  many  honourable 


188  EPIGRAMS. 

Love  honours,  which  of  best  example  be, 
When  they  cost  dearest,  and  are  done  most  free. 
Though  every  fortitude  deserves  applause, 
It  may  be  much,  or  little,  in  the  cause. 
He's  valiant'st,  that  dares  fight,  and  not  for  pay  ; 
That  virtuous  is,  when  the  reward's  away. 


LXVII. 
To  THOMAS  EARL  OF  SUFFOLK.' 

Since  men  have  left  to  do  praiseworthy  things, 
Most  think  all  praises  flatteries :  but  truth  brings 
That  sound  and  that  authority  with  her  name, 
As,  to  be  raised  by  her,  is  only  fame. 
Stand  high,  then,  HOWARD,  high  in  eyes  of  men, 
High  iu  thy  blood,  thy  place  ;  but  highest  then, 
When,  in  men's  wishes,  so  thy  virtues  wrought, 
As  all  thy  honours  were  by  them  first  sought: 
And  thou  design'd  to  be  the  same  thou  art, 
Before  thou  wert  it,  in  each  good  man's  heart. 

personages  that  wished  well  to  the  state  ;  and  by  some  fair 
ladies,  whom  I  knew  his  Excellencie  would  he  apt  to  favour. 
I  delivered  his  valuable  estate,  and  the  hard  course  taken 
against  him.  And  lastly  told  what  between  the  Conde  de  Villa 
Longa  and  me,  had  been  agreed  to  be  done  in  his  favour,  whereat 
he  smyled,  and  desired  he  might  be  put  in  further  memorie  of 
it,  which  by  God's  grace  shall  not  be  omitted."  This  was  in 
June  1606  ;  but  it  required  yet  many  conferences  before  his 
liberty  was  procured. 

9  To  Thomas  earl  of  Suffolk.  ]  He  was  so  created  by  James  I. 
in  1603,  and  bore  several  great  offices  of  state.  In  the  12th  year 
of  the  same  king,  he  was  constituted  lord  high  treasurer  ;  and 
it  is  not  improbable  but  this  epigram  was  addressed  to  him  on 
his  promotion  to  that  high  station.  WHAL. 

The  epigram  has  a  much  earlier  date  than  Whalley  assigns  it. 
It  was  probably  written  upon  his  accession  to  the  title  of  Suf- 
folk, when  he  was  also  appointed  lord  chamberlain. 


EPIGRAMS.  189 

Which,  by  no  less  confirmed,  than  thy  king's 

choice, 
Proves  that  is  God's,  which  was  the  people's  voice. 

LXVIIL 
ON  PLAYWRIGHT. 

PLAYWRIGHT  convict  of  public  wrongs  to  men, 
Takes  private  beatings,  and  begins  again. 
Two  kinds  of  valour  he  doth  shew  at  once  ; 
Active  in's  brain,  and  passive  in  his  bones. 

LXIX. 
To  PERTINAX  COB. 

COB,  thou  nor  soldier,  thief,  nor  fencer  art, 
Yet  by  thy  weapon  liv'st !  thou  hast  one  good 
part. 

LXX. 

To  WILLIAM  ROE. 

When  nature  bids  us  leave  to  live,  'tis  late 
Then  to  begin,  my  ROE  !  He  makes  a  state 
In  life,  that  can  employ  it ;  and  takes  hold 
On  the  true  causes,  ere  they  grow  too  old. 
Delay  is  bad,  doubt  worse,  depending  worst ; 
Each  best  day  of  our  life  escapes  us,  first :  * 

1  Each  best  day  of  our  life  escapes  us  first.]  From  Virgil  : 

"  Optima  quzque  dies  miseris  mortalibus  <evi 
Printajugit." 

William  Roe  was  probably  the  brother  of  the  person  to  whose 
memory  the  epigrams,  p.  1 65,8, 9.  are  consecrated.  I  have  already 
remarked  on  the  solemn  tone  which  th«  poet  assumes  in  all  his 
addresses  to  this  family. 


190  EPIGRAMS. 

Then,  since  we,  more  than  many,  these  truths 

know ; 
Though  life  be  short,  let  us  not  make  it  so. 

LXXI. 
ON  COURT  PARROT. 

To  pluck  down  mine,  POLL  sets  up  new  wits  still; 
Still  'tis  his  luck  to  praise  me  'gainst  his  will. 

LXXII. 

To  CoURTLING. 

I  grieve  not,  COURTLING,  thou  art  started  up 
A  chamber-critic,  and  doth  dine,  and  sup 
At  madam's  table,  where  thou  mak'st  all  wit 
Go  high,  or  low,  as  thou  wilt  value  it. 
'Tis  not  thy  judgment  breeds  thy  prejudice, 
Thy  person  only,  Courtling,  is  the  vice. 

LXXIII. 

To  FINE  GRAND." 

What  is't,  FINK  GRAND,  makes  thee  my  friendship 

fly» 

Or  take  an  Epigram  so  fearfully,  , 

As  'twere  a  challenge,  or  a  borrower's  letter  ? 
The  world  must    know  your  greatness  is  my 

debtor. 

Imprimis,  Grand,  you  owe  me  for  a  jest 
I  lent  you,  on  mere  acquaintance,  at  a  feast. 

*  Randolph  has  imitated  this  Epigram  in  his  Pedlar  ;  a  for- 
gotten piece,  from  which  Dodsley  took  the  plot,  and  something 
more  than  the  plot,  of  his  Toy.shvp. 


EPIGRAMS.  191 

Item,  a  tale  or  two  some  fortnight  after ; 

That    yet   maintains   you,   and   your  house  in 

laughter. 

Item,  the  Babylonian  song  you  sing; 
Item,  a  fair  Greek  poesy  for  a  ring, 
With  which  a  learned  madam  you  bely. 
Item,  a  charm  surrounding  fearfully 
Y our  par tie-per- pale  picture,  one  half  drawn 
In  solemn  Cyprus,  th'  other  cobweb  lawn. 
Item,  a  gulling  imprese  for  you,  at  tilt. 
Item,  your  mistress'  anagram,  in  your  hilt. 
Item,  your  own,  sew'd  in  your  mistress'  smock. 
Item,  an  epitaph  on  my  lord's  cock, 
In  most  vile  verses,  and  cost  me  more  pain, 
Than  had  I  made  'em  good,  to  fit  your  vein. 
Forty  things  more,  dear  Grand,  which  you  knour 

true, 
For  which,  or  pay  me  quickly',  or  I'll  pay  you. 

LXXIV. 

To  THOMAS  LORD  CHANCELLOR  EGERTON. 

Whilst  thy  weigh'd  judgments,  EGERTON,  I  hear, 
And  know  thee  then  a  judge,  not  of  one  year; 
Whilst  I  behold  thee  live  with  purest  hands ; 
That  no  affection  in  thy  voice  commands ; 
That  still  thou'rt  present  to  the  better  cause; 
And  no  less  wise  than  skilful  in  the  laws ; 
Whilst  them  art  certain  to  thy  words,  once  gone, 
As  is  thy  conscience,  which  is  always  one : 
The  Virgin,  long  since  fled  from  earth,  I  see, 
To  our  times  return'd,  hath  made  her  heaven  in 
thee.3 

3   The  Virgin,  long  since  fled  from  earth,  I  see, 

To  our  times  return'd,  hath  made  her  heaven  in  thcc^\  This  is 


192  E  P  I  G  RAM  S. 

LXXV. 

OlST   LlPPE  THE  TEACHER. 

I  cannot  think  there's  that  antipathy 
'Twixt  puritans  and  players,  as  some  cry ; 
Though  LIPPE,  at  Paul's,  ran  from  his  text  away, 
To  inveigh  'gainst  plays,  what  did  he  then  but 
play? 

high  praise  ;  but  it  is  not  bestowed  at  random  ;  and  it  comes 
from  one  who  knew,  and  judged  him  well. 

This  great  man  was  the  natural  son  of  sir  Richard  Egerton, 
of  Ridley,  Cheshire,  by  Alice  daughter  of  Mr.  Sparke,  also  of 
Cheshire.  He  was  born  in  1539,  sent  to  Oxford  when  he  was 
about  17,  and  thence  to  Lincoln's  Inn.  In  1584  he  was  ap- 
pointed Solicitor  General,  and  two  years  afterwards,  he  was 
made  Master  of  the  Rolls,  which  office  he  held  together  with 
that  of  Lord  Keeper  until  the  accession  of  James  I,  1603,  when 
he  was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  baron  of  Elleiimere,  and 
constituted  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England.  In  1610  he  was 
created  viscount  Brackley,  and  died  at  York  House  in  the 
Strand,  15th  March,  1617,  having  on  the  third  of  that  month 
obtained  the  king's  leave,  after  long  and  earnest  importunity, 
to  resign  the  great  seal.  He  was  in  his  seventy-eighth  year. 

His  person,  as  to  its  exterior,  was  so  grave  and  dignified, 
that  many  people,  Fuller  says,  have  gone  to  the  Chancery  on 
purpose  only  to  see  his  venerable  garb,  and  were  highly  pleased 
at  so  acceptable  a  spectacle.  But  his  interior  presented  a  subject 
of  higher  admiration.  "  His  apprehension  was  keen  and  ready  ; 
his  judgment  deep  and  sound,  his  reason  clear  and  compre- 
hensive, his  elocution  eloquent  and  easy.  As  a  lawyer  he  was 
prudent  in  council,  extensive  in  information,  honest  in  principle, 
so  that  while  he  lived  he  was  excelled  by  none;  and  when  he 
died,  he  was  lamented- by  all."  Co//.  Peerage,  vol.  iii.  p.  1^0. 

Jonson  has  gome  allusions  to  the  Ode  to  Lollius,  who  was 
very  far  from  an  Egerton  : 

"  ConsuJque  non  unius  anni 

Sed  quoties  bonus  atquejidus 
Judex  honestum  pmtulit  vtili,"  &c. 


EPIGRAMS.  193 

LXXVI. 

ON  LUCY,  COUNTESS  OF  BEDFORD. 

This  morning,  timely  rapt  with  holy  fire,* 

I  thought  to  form  unto  my  zealous  Muse, 
What  kind  of  creature  I  could  most  desire, 

To  honour,  serve,  and  love  ;  as  poets  use. 
I  meant  to  make  her  fair,  and  free,  and  wise, 

Of  greatest  blood,  andyet  more  good  than  great ; 
I  meant  the  day-star  should  not  brighter  rise, 

Nor  lend  like  influence  from  his  lucent  seat, 
I  meant  she  should  be  courteous,  facile,  sweet, 

Hating  that  solemn  vice  of  greatness,  pride; 
I  meant  each  softest  virtue  there  should  meet, 

Fit  HI  that  softer  bosom  to  reside. 
Only  a  learned,  and  a  manly  soul 

I  purposed  her ;  that  should,  with  even  powers, 
The  rock,  the  spindle,  and  the  sheers  control 

Of  Destiny,  and  spin  her  own  free  hours. 
Such  when  I  meant  to  feign,  and  wish'd  to  see, 
My  Muse  bade,  BEDFORD  write,  and  that  was  she ! 

LXXVII. 

To  ONE  THAT  DESIRED  ME  NOT  TO  NAME  HIM. 

Be  safe,  nor  fear  thyself  so  good  a  fame, 
That,  any  way,  my  book  should  speak  thy  name  : 
For,  if  thou  shame,  rank'd  with  my  friends,  to  go, 
I'm  more  ashamed  to  have  thee  thought  my  foe. 

*  This  morning^  timely  rapt  with  holyjire.]  The  English  lan- 
guage, rich  as  it  is  in  effusions  of  this  kind,  does  not  furnish  a 
complimentary  poem  that  for  delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  beauty 
of  diction,  can  at  all  be  compared  with  this  exquisite  epigram  ; 
which  has  yet  the  further  merit  of  being  consonant  to  truth. 
See  Tol.  vii.  p.  19. 

VOL.  VIII.  O 


EPIGRAMS. 

LXXVIII. 

To  HORNET. 

HORNET,  thou,hast  thy  wife  drest  for  the  stall, 
To  draw  thee  custom  :  but  herself  gets  all. 

LXXIX. 

To  ELIZABETH,  COUNTESS  OF 
RUTLAND. 

That  poets  are  far  rarer  births  than  kings,* 

Your  noblest  father  proved;  like  whom,  before, 
Or  then,  or  since,  about  our  Muses'  springs, 

Came  not  that  soul  exhausted  so  their  store. 
Hence  was  it,  that  the  Destinies  decreed 

(Save  that  most  masculine  issue  of  his  brain) 
No  male  unto  him  ;  who  could  so  exceed 

Nature,   they  thought,  in  all  that  he  would 

feign. 
At  which,  she  happily  displeased,  made  you  : 

On  whom,  if  he  were  living  now,  to  look, 

5  That  poets  are  far  rarer  births  than  kings, 

Your  noblest  Jatherprov'd.]  This  lady,  wife  to  Roger  earl  of 
Rutland,  was  daughter  to  sir  Philip  Sidney,  by  his  wife 
Frances,  only  daughter  to  sir  Francis  Walsingham,  secretary 
of  state  to  queen  Elizabeth.  It  is  necessary  to  know  such  tri- 
rial  circumstances,  as,  in  these  smaller  poems,  their  chief  merit 
often  consists  in  the  turns  of  thought  which  allude  to  them. 

WHAL. 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  Whalley  should  entertain  this 
opinion,  and  yet  that  this  should  be  almost  the  only  person 
whom  he  has  noticed.  This  celebrated  lady,  who  was  also  the 
patroness  of  Donne  and  Daniel,  and  to  whom  Jonson  wrote 
other  rerses,  died  before  these  poems  were  published.  The 
u  masculine  issue''  of  her  father  was  the  Arcadia. 


EPIGRAMS.  195 

He  should  those  rare,  and  absolute  numbers  view, 
As  he  would  burn,  or  better  far  his  book. 

LXXX. 

OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

The  ports  of  death  are  sins;  of  life,  good  deeds; 
Through  which  our  merit  leads  us  to?  our  meeds. 
How  wilful  blind  is  he,  then,  that  would  stray, 
And  hath  it,  in  his  powers,  to  make  his  way  ! 
This  world  death's  region  is,  the  other  life's ; 
And  here,  it  should  be  one  of  our  first  strifes, 
So  to  front  death,  as  men  might  judge  us  past  it: 
For  good  men  but  see  death,  the  wicked  taste  it. 

LXXXL 

To  PROWLE,  THE  PLAGIARY. 

Forbear  to  tempt  me,  PROWLE,  I  will  not  show 
A  line  unto  thee,  till  the  world  it  know ; 
Or  that  I've  by  two  good  sufficient  men, 
To  be  the  wealthy  witness  of  my  pen  :6 
For  all  thouhear'st,  thou  swear'st  thyself  didst  do. 
Thy  wit  lives  by  it,  Prowle,  and  belly  too. 
Which,  if  thou  leave  not  soon,  though  I  am  loth, 
I  must  a  libel  make,  and  cozen  both.  • 

LXXXII. 

ON  CASHIERED  CAPTAIN  SURLY. 

SURLY'S  old  whore  in  her  new  silks  doth  swim  : 
He  cast,  yet  keeps  her  well !  No  ;  she  keeps  him. 

*  To  be  the  wealthy  witness  of  my  pen.']  This  is  a  pure  La- 
tinism :  testis  locuples  is  the  phrase  for  a  full  and  sufficient 
evidence.  WHAL. 

O  2 


EPIGRAMS. 

LXXXIII. 

To  A  FRIEND. 

To  put  out  the  word,  whore,  thou  dost  me  woo, 
Throughout  my  book.  Troth,  put  out  woman  too. 

LXXXIV. 

To  LUCY  COUNTESS  OF  BEDFORD. 

Madam,  I  told  you  late,  how  I  repented, 

I  ask'd  a  lord  a  buck,  and  he  denied  me; 
And,  ere  I  could  ask  you,  I  was  prevented  : 

For  your  most  noble  offer  had  supplied  me. 
Straight  went  I  home ;  and  there,  most  like  a 
poet, 

I  fancied  to  myself,  what  wine,  what  wit 
I   would  have  spent ;  how  every  muse  should 
know  it, 

And  Phoebus'  self  should  be  at  eating  it. 
O,  madam,  if  your  grant  did  thus  transfer  me,7 
Make  it  your  gift !  See  whither  that  will  bear  me. 

LXXXV. 

To  SIR  HENRY  GOODYERE. 

GOODYERE,  I'm  glad,*  and  grateful  to  report, 
Myself  a  witness  of  thy  few  days  sport ; 

7  O,  madam,  if  your  grant,  &c.]  She  had  probably  offered 
him  a  warrant  for  one  :  the  object  of  the  epigram  seems  to  be 
that  it  should  be  sent  home  to  him. 

8  Goodyere,  I'm  glad,  &c.]     Sir  Henry  Goodyere,  to  whom 
this  and  the  following  epigram  are  addressed,  was  a  gentleman 
of  great  probity  and  virtue,  and  much  respected  by  th«<  men  of 
genius  in  our  author's  age.     There  was  great  intimacy  between 
him  and   Dr.  Donne,  whose   letters  to  sir  Henry  Goodyere 
make  up  the  greatest  part  of  the  collection  published  by  the 
Doctor's  son.    WHAL, 


EPIGRAMS.  197 

Where  I  both  learn'd,  why  wise  men  hawking 

follow, 

And  why  that  bird  was  sacred  to  Apollo  : 
She  doth  instruct  men  by  her  gallant  flight, 
That  they  to  knowledge   so   should    tower  up- 
right, 

And  never  stoop,  but  to  strike  ignorance  ; 
Which  if  theymiss,  yetthey  should  re-advance 
To  former  height,  and  there  in  circle  tarry, 
Till  they  be  sure  to  make  the  fool  their  quarry. 
Now,  in  whose  pleasures  I  have  this  discerned, 
What  would  his  serious  actions  me  have  learned  ? 

Sir  Henry  had  a  fine  scat  at  Polesworth,  in  Warwickshire, 
where  Junson,  much  to  his  satisfaction,  appears  to  have  passed 
some  time  with  him. 

11  To  the  honour  of  this  sir  Henry,"  Camden  says,  "  a  knight 
memorable  for  his  virtues,  an  affectionate  friend  of  his  made 
this  tetrastich."  There  is  certainly  more  affection  than  poetry 
in  it: 

{<  An  111  yeare  of  a  Goodyere  us  bereft 

Who,  gone  to  God,  much  lack  of  him  here  left 
Full  of  good  gifts  of  body  and  of  mind, 
Wise,  comely,  learned,  eloquent,  and  kind." 

Remains,  341. 

Sir  Henry  joined  the  band  of  wits  who  amused  themselvei 
with  the  simple  vanity  of  Coryat.  He  was  not  much  of  a  poet: 
and  I  give  the  following  extract  merely  because  it  serves  to 
illustrate  a  passage  relating  to  the  "  trunk"  in  the  Masque  of 
Love  Restored,  vol.  vii.  p.  216. 

"  If  any  think  Tom  dull  and  heavy,  know 
The  court  and  city's  mirth  cannot  be  so  ; 
Who  thinks  him  light,  ask  them  who  had  the  task, 
To  beare  him  in  a  tronke  unto  the  maske.'' 
In  the  page  just  referred  to,  there  is  an  omission  that  I  now 
wish  to  supply.     The  old  copy  reads  "  which  made  me  once 
think  of  a  trunk,  but  that  I  would  not  imitate  so  catholic  a 
coxcomb  as  Coryat,  and  make   &  case :  uses."    The  last  words 
appearing  unintelligible,  were  thrown   to  the   bottom  of  the 
page.     I  now  think  I  see  the  author's  meaning,  and  that  the 
defect    may   be  thus    remedied  :    "  I   would  not    imitate  so 
catholic  a  coxcomb  as  Coryat,  and  make  a  case  (i.  e.  a  pair)  of 
asses." 


198  E  P  I  G  R  A  M  S. 

LXXXVI. 

To  THE  SAME. 

When   I   would    know    thee,    GOODYERE,    my 

thought  looks 

Upon  thy  well-made  choice  of  friends,  and  books ; 
Then  do  I  love  thee,  and  behold  thy  ends 
In  making  thy  friends  books,   and  thy   books 

friends : 

Now  I  must  give  thy  life  and  deed,  the  voice 
Attending  such  a  study,  such  a  choice ; 
Where,  though  't  be  love  that  to  thy  praise  doth 

move, 
It  was  a  knowledge  that  begat  that  love. 

LXXXVII. 

ON  CAPTAIN  HAZARD,  THE  CHEATER.' 

Touch'd  with  the  sin  of  false  play  in  his  punk, 
HAZARD  a  month  forswore  his,  and  grew  drunk, 
Each  night,  to  drown  his  cares ;  but  when  the 

gain 
Of  what  she  had  wrought  came  in,  and  waked 

his  brain, 

Upon  the  accompt,  hers  grew  the  quicker  trade: 
Since  when  he's  sober  again,  and  all  play's  made. 


9  On  captain  Hazard,  the  cheater.]  ».  e.  the  gamester.  The 
terms  were  synonymous  in  Jonson's  age,  and  perhaps  have  been 
so  in  every  age  since.  WHAL. 


EPIGRAMS.  199 

LXXXVIII. 
ON  ENGLISH  MONSIEUR. 

Would  you  believe,  when  you  thisMoNSiEURsee, 
That  his  whole  body  should  speak  French,  not  he? 
That  so  much  scarf  of  France,  and  hat,  and 

feather, 
And  shoe,   and   tye,    and    garter,  should  come 

hither, 

And  land  on  one  whose  face  durst  never  be 
Toward  the  sea,  farther  than  half-way  tree  r1 
That  he,  untravell'd,  should  be  French  so  much, 
As    Frenchmen    in    his    company    should    seem 

Dutch? 

Or  had  his  father,  when  he  did  him  get, 
The  French  disease,  with  which  he  labours  yet? 
Or  hung  some  Monsieur's  picture  on  the  wall, 
By  which  his  dam  conceived  him,  clothes  and  all? 
Or  is  it  some  French  statue?  no  :  't  doth  move. 
And  stoop,  and  cringe.     O  then,  it  needs  must 

prove 

The  new  French  tailor's  motion,  monthly  made, 
Daily  to  turn  in  Paul's,  and  help  the  trade. 

LXXXIX. 

To  EDWARD  ALLEN*. 

If  Rome  so  great,  and  in  her  wisest  age, 
Fear'd  not  to  boast  the  glories  of  her  stage, 

1  Farther  than  half-way  tree.]  la  the  way  to  Dover,  in  the 
poet's  time,  'tis  probable  some  remarkable  tree  might  be 
standing  in  the  road  about  half  way  thither.  WHAL. 

*  To  Edward  Allen.']    The  fame  of  this  celebrated  actor  yet 


£00  EPIGRAMS. 

As  skilful  Roscius,  and  grave  Jisop,  men, 
Yet  crown'd  with  honours,  as  with  riches,  then ; 
Who  had  no  less  a  trumpet  of  their  name, 
Than  Cicero,  whose  every  breath  was  fame : 
How  can  so  great  example  die  in  me, 
That,  ALLEN,  I  should  pause  to  publish  thee  ? 
Who  both  their  graces  in  thy  self  hast  more 
Out-stript,  than  they  did  all  that  went  before  : 
And  present  worth  in  all  dost  so  contract, 
As  others  speak,  but  only  thou  dost  act. 
Wear  this  renown.    Tis  just,  that  who  did  give 
So  many  poets  life,  by  one  should  live. 

XC. 
ON  MILL,  MY  LADY'S  WOMAN. 

When  MILL  first  came  to  court,  th'  unprofiting 

fool, 

Unworthy  such  a  mistress,  such  a  school, 
Was  dull,  and  long  ere  she  would  go  to  man  : 
At  last,  ease,  appetite,  and  example  wan 

lives  in  these  verses  of  our  author,  and  in  those  of  his  cotempo- 
rary  poets :  but  a  more  durable  monument  of  his  name  and 
goodness,  is  existing  in  Dulwich-college,  near  London,  of 
which  he  was  the  munificent  and  pious  founder.  WHAL. 

Two  things  may  be  collected  from  this  excellent  epigram, 
first,  that  Jonson  had  other  acquaintance  on  the  stage  than 
Shakspeare,  and  secondly,  that  when  he  spoke  of  u  some  better 
natures  among  the  players,  who  had  been  drawn  in  to  abuse 
him,''  he  did  not,  as  Messrs  Steevens  and  Malone  are  pleased 
to  suggest,  necessarily  mean  that  great  poet. 

Hurd  has  two  or  three  pages  of  vapid  pomposity,  to  prove 
that  doctus,  applied,  by  Horace,  to  Roscius,  ought  to  be  trans- 
lated skilful^  and  not  learned.  Jonson,  who  had  ten  times 
Hurd's  learning,  without  a  tithe  of  his  pedantry,  had  done  it 
in  one  word.  Of  this,  however,  no  notice  is  taken  !  The  Terse 
which  Jonson  had  in  view,  it  in  the  Epistle  to  Augustus  : 

Qua;  gravi&  JEsopus,  qua:  doctus  Rvscius  tgit. 


EPIGRAMS.  £01 

The  nicer  thing  to  taste  her  lady's  page ; 
And,  finding  good  security  in  his  age, 
Went  on  :  and  proving  him  still  day  by  day, 
Discern'd  no  difference  of  his  years,  or  play. 
Not  though  that  hair  grew  brown,  which  once 

was  amber, 
And  he,  grown  youth,  was  call'd  to  his  lady's 

chamber; 

Still  Mill  continued :  nay,  his  face  growing  worse, 
And  he  removed  to  gentleman  of  the  horse, 
Mill  was  the  same.   Since.,  both  his  body  and  face 
Blown  up;  and  he  (too  unwieldy  for  that  place) 
Hath  got  the  steward's  chair;  he  will  not  tarry 
Longer  a  day,  but  with  his  Mill  will  marry : 
And  it  is  hop'd,  that  she,  like,  Milo,  wull 
First  bearing  him  a  calf,  bear  him  a  bull. 

XCI. 

To  SIR  HORACE  VERE.* 

Which  of  thy  names  I  take,  not  only  bears 
A  Roman  sound,  but  Roman  virtue  wears, 

3  To  sir  Horace  Vere.]  He  was  created  lord  Tilbury,  and 
was  the  famous  general  in  the  Low  Country  wars  in  the  reign 
of  queen  Elizabeth.  Many  of  the  nobility  at  that  time  served 
under  him.  WHAL. 

Sir  Horace  was  grandson  of  John  Vere,  fifteenth  earl  of 
Oxford.  He  was  a  celebrated  warrior,  as  well  as  his  elder 
brother,  sir  Francis.  Fuller,  in  his  quaint  but  forcible  manner, 
says,  that  "  he  had  more  meekness,  and  as  much  valour  as  his 
brother  ;  so  pious.,  that  he  first  made  his  peace  with  God  before 
he  went  out  to  war  with  man." 

Rowland  Whyte  (in  a  letter  to  the  earl  of  Shrewsbury,  dated 
Court,  7th  Nov.  1607,)  says,  "  sir  Horacio  Vere  shall  marry 
wth.'ji  these  eight  days,  one  Mrs.  Hoby,  a  widdow,  sister  to 
sir  John  Tracey  ;  a  fine,  comely,  well  graced  gentelwomau." 
To  this  lady,  who  outlived  sir  Horace  nearly  forty  years,  the 
Parliament  confided  the  care  of  the  younger  children  of  their 


202  EPIGRAMS. 

Illustrious  VERB,  or  HORACE  ;  fit  to  be 
Sung  by  a  Horace,  or  a  Muse  as  free ; 
Which  thou  art  to  thyself:  whose  fame  was  won 
In  the   eye  of  Europe,  where  thy  deeds  were 

done, 

When  on  thy  trumpet  she  did  sound  a  blast, 
Whose  relish  to  eternity  shall  last. 
I  leave  thy  acts,  which  should  I  prosecute 
Throughout,  might  flattery  seem;  and  to  be  mute 
To  any  one,  were  envy  ;  which  would  live 
Against  my  grave,  and  time  could  not  forgive. 
I  speak  thy  other  graces,  not  less  shown, 
Nor    less   in    practice ;    but   less    mark'd,    less 

known : 

Humanity,  and  piety,  which  are 
As  noble  in  great  chiefs,  as  they  are  rare ; 
And  best  become  the  valiant  man  to  wear, 
Who  more  should  seek  men's  reverence,  than 

fear. 

XCII. 

THE  NEW  CRY. 

Ere  cherries  ripe  !  and  strawberries  !  be  gone  ; 
Unto  the  CRIES  OF  LONDON  I'll  add  one. 
Ripe  statesmen,  ripe !  they  grow  in  every  street ; 
At  six  and  twenty,  ripe.     You  shall  them  meet, 
And  have  them  yield  no  savour,  but  of  state. 
Ripe  are  their  ruffs,   their  cuffs,   their  beards, 

their  gait, 

And  grave  as  ripe,  like  mellow  as  their  faces. 
They  know  the  states  of  Christendom,  not  the 

places  ; 

unfortunate  sovereign.  They  could  not  be  in  better  hand;','  for 
she  was  "  a  person  of  excellent  character."  Sir  Horace  was 
created  Lord  Vere  of  Tilbury  in  1625,  beiug,  as  Fuller  says, 
the  first  baron  made  by  Charles  I. 


EPIGRAMS.  203 

Yet  they  have  seen  the  maps,  and  bought  'em  too, 
And  understand  them,  as  most  chapmen  do. 
The  councils,  projects,  practices  they  know, 
And  what  eacli  prince  doth  for  intelligence  owe, 
And  unto  whom  ;  they  are  the  almanacks, 
For  twelve  years  yet  to  come,  what  each  state 

lacks. 

They  carry  in  their  pockets  Tacitus, 
And  the  Gazetti,  or  Gallo-Belgicus; 
And  talk  reserv'd,  lock'd  up,  and  full  of  fear, 
Nay,  ask  you,  how  the  day  goes,  in  your  ear ; 
Keep  a  Star-chamber  sentence  close  twelve  days, 
And  whisper  what  a  Proclamation  says. 
They  meet  in  sixes,  and  at  every  mart, 
Are  sure  to  con  the  catalogue  by  heart ; 
Or  every  day,  sonie  one  at  Rimee's  looks, 
Or  Bill's,6  and  there  he  buys  the  names  of  books. 
They  all  getPorta,  for  the  sundry  ways 
To  write  in  cipher,  and  the  several  keys, 
To  ope  the  character  ;  they've  found  the  slight 
With  juice  of  limons,  onions,  piss,  to  write  ; 
To  break  up  seals,  and  close  them :  and  they 

know, 

If  the  States  make  [not]  peace,  how  it  will  go 
With  England.    All  forbidden  books  they  get, 
And  of  the  powder-plot,  they  will  talk  yet : 
At  naming  the  French  king  their  heads  they 

shake, 

And  at  the  Pope  and  Spain  slight  faces  make ; 
Or  'gainst  the  bishops,  for  the  brethren  rail, 
Much  like  those  brethren ;  thinking  to  prevail 

6  Seme  one  at  Rimee's  looks, 

Or  Bill's 

They  all  get  Porta.]  The  two  first  were  booksellers  in  that 
age  :  the  last  was  the  famous  Neapolitan,  JoAannesBaptistaPorta, 
who  has  a  treatise  extant  in  Latin,  De  furtivis  literarum  notis, 
nifgo  deZiferis, printed  at  Naples  1563.  He  died  1615.  WHAL. 


204  E  P  I  G  R  A  M  S. 

With  ignorance  on  us,  as  they  have  done 
Ou  them  :  and  therefore  do  not  only  shun 
Others  more  modest,  but  contemn  us  too, 
That  know  not  so  much  state,  wrong,  as  they  do. 

XCIII. 


How  like  a  column,  RADCLIFFE,  left  alone5 
For  the  great  mark  of  virtue,  those  being  gone 
Who  did,  alike  with  thee,  thy  house  up-bear, 
Stand'st  thou,  to  shew  the  times  what  you  all 
were  ? 

/ 

s  How  like  a  column,  Radcliffe,  &c.]  This  epigram  (a  very 
admirable  one)  is  addressed  to  the  surviving  brother  of  Margaret 
Radcliffe.  (see  Epig.  xl.)  It  undoubtedly  furnished  Edwards 
with  the  model  for  his  affecting  sonnet,  On  a  Family  Picture, 
which  the  reader  will  find  subjoined,  and  which  may  be  counted 
among  the  best  of  this  polished  and  amiable  man. 

ON  A  FAMILY  PICTURE. 

"  When  pensive  on  that  portraiture  I  gaze, 

Where  my  four  brothers  round  about  me  stand, 
And  four  fair  sisters  smile  with  graces  bland, 
The  goodly  monument  of  happier  days  ; 

And  think  how  soon  insatiate  death,  who  preys 
On  all,  has  cropt  the  rest  with  ruthless  hand  ; 
While  only  I  survive  of  all  that  band, 

Which  one  chaste  bed  did  to  my  father  raise  : 

It  seems  that  like  a  column  left  alone, 

The  tottering  remnant  of  some  splendid  fane, 
Scaped  from  the  fury  of  the  barbarous  Gaul, 

And  wasting  time  which  has  the  rest  o'erthrown, 
Amidst  our  house's  ruins  I  remain 
Single,  unpropt,  and  nodding  to  my  fall." 

it  is  melancholy  to  add  to  the  little  history  of  Sir  J.  RadclifiYs 
family,  that  this  "  column"  also,  this  "  great  mark  of  virtue," 
fell,  not  many  years  afterwards,  like  the  rest."  That  valiant  and 


EPIGRAMS.  £05 

Two  bravely  in  the  battle  fell  and  died,a 
Upbraiding  rebels'  arms,  and  barbarous  pride : 
And  two  that  would  have  fall'n  as  great  as  they, 
The  Belgic  fever  ravished  away. 
Thou,  that  art  all  their  valour,  all  their  spirit, 
And  thine  own  goodness  to  encrease  thy  merit, 
Than  whose  I  do  not  know  a  whiter  soul, 
Nor  could  I,  had  I  seen  all  nature's  roll, 
Thou  yet  remain'st,  unhurt  in  peace  or  war, 
Though  not  unprov'd ;  which  shews  thy  fortunes 

are 

Willing  to  expiate  the  fault  in  thee, 
Wherewith,  against  thy  blood,  they  'offenders  be. 

XCIV. 

To  LUCY  COUNTESS  OF  BEDFORD,  WITH  MASTER 
DONNE'S  SATIRES.* 

LUCY,  you  brightness  of  our  sphere,  who  are, 
Life  of  the  Muses'  day,  their  morning  star  ! 

generally  beloved  gentleman  (Weerer  says,)  sir  John  Radcliffe, 
lieutenant  colonell,  was  slaine  fighting  against  the  French  in 
the  isle  of  Rhee,  the  29th  of  October,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord, 
1627. 

*  In  Ireland. 

6  Daniel,  who  has  a  poem  addressed  to  the  countess,  terms 
her  "  learned  ;"  undoubtedly  she  was  a  most  accomplished 
lady,  and  skilled  in  a  variety  of  arts,  not  much  studied  by  the 
females  of  those  days.  Sir  Thomas  Roe  has  a  letter  to  her,  in 
-which  he  speaks  of  her  proficiency  in  the  knowledge  of  ancient 
medals;  and  sir  William  Temple  mentions  her  with  applause 
in  his  Essay  on  the  gardens  of  Epicurus,  for  "  projecting  the 
most  perfect  figure  of  a  garden  that  he  e?er  saw."  Granger 
attempts  to  be  severe  on  her  bounty  to  the  poets  ;  but  as 
Dray  ton,  Donne,  Daniel,  and  our  author  were  among  the 
number,  her  liberality  seems  to  be  nearly  as  secure  from  censure 
as  her  judgment. 

It  is  pleasing  to  mark  the  habitual  kindness  with  which  Jonsou 


<206  EPIGRAMS. 

If  works,  not  authors,  their  own  grace  should 

look, 

Whose  poems  would  not  wish  to  be  your  book  ? 
But  these,  desired  by  you,  the  maker's  ends 
Crown  with  their  own  :    Rare  poems  ask  rare 

friends. 

Yet  satires,  since  the  most  of  mankind  be 
Their  unavoided  subject,  fewest  see ; 
For  none  e'er  took  that  pleasure  in  sin's  sense, 
But,  when  they  heard  it  tax'd,  took  more  offence. 
They  then,  that  living  where  the  matter's  bred, 
Dare  for  these  poems  yet  both  ask,  and  read, 
And  like  them  too  ;  must  needfully,  though  few, 
Be  of  the  best,  and  'mongst  those  best  are  you  : 
Lucy,  you  brightness  of  our  sphere,  who  are 
The  Muses'  evening,  as  their  morning  star  ! 

xcv. 

To  SIR  HENRY  SAVILE. 

If,  my  religion  safe,  I  durst  embrace 
That  stranger  doctrine  of  Pythagoras, 
I  should  believe,  the  soul  of  Tacitus 
In  thee,  most  weighty  SAVILE  lived  to  us: 
So  hast  thou  render'd  him  in  all  his  bounds, 
And  all  his  numbers,  both  of  sense  and  sounds. 
But  when  I  read  that  special  piece  restored, 
Where  Nero  falls,  and  Galba  is  adored, 
To  thine  own  proper  I  ascribe  then  more, 
And  gratulate  the  breach  I  griev'd  before ; 
Which  fate,  it  seems,  caus'd  in  the  history, 
Only  to  boast  thy  merit  in  supply. 

recommends  his  friend's  works,  and  the  ingenious  mode  in 
which  he  compliments  his  patroness  for  desiring  to  have  a  copy 
of  the  Satires. 


EPIGRAMS.  207 

O,  would'st  thou  add  like  hand  to  all  the  rest ! 
Or,  better  work  !  were  thy  glad  country  blest, 
To  have  her  story  woven  in  thy  thread  ; 7 
Minerva's  loom  was  never  richer  spread. 


7  — Were  thy  glad  country  blest, 

To  have  her  story  -woven  in  thy  thread.']  It  was  then  imagined, 
that  sir  Henry  Savile  intended  to  hare  compiled  a  general  his- 
tory of  England  ;  but  he  gave  over  the  design,  and  engaged  in 
the  excellent  edition  of  Chrysostom,  which  he  afterwards  pub- 
lished. WHAL. 

There  is  no  date  to  this  epigram  ;  but  it  must  hare  been 
written  after  1604,  as  he  did  not  receive  the  honour  of  knight- 
hood till  that  year,  and  before  1613,  in  which  year  his  magni- 
ficent edition  of  Chrysostom's  Works,  8  vol.  fol.  appeared,  which 
Jonson  would  not  have  omitted  to  mention.  Sir  Henry  was  one 
of  the  most  learned  men  of  that  learned  age,  and  published  many 
valuable  works,  which  raised  his  reputation  no  less  abroad  than 
at  home.  The  translation  of  which  Jonson  speaks  was  published 
long  before  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  to  whom  it  was  dedicated  : 
to  this  he  appended  a  large  body  of  notes,  in  which  the  breaks 
in  the  original  are  occasionally  supplied  with  great  ingenuity. 
He  was  admirably  skilled  in  the  history  of  this  country,  and 
collected  and  printed  the  tracts  of  many  of  the  best  ancient 
writers  on  the  subject ;  if,  therefore,  he  really  designed,  as 
Whalley  says,  to  compile  a  general  history  of  England,  we  have 
to  lament  that  one  so  well  qualified  for  the  task  found  cause  to 
lay  it  aside. 

Sir  Henry  was  warden  of  Merton  College,  Oxford,  and  pro. 
vost  of  Eton.  Aubrey  says  that  he  was  a  severe  governour,  and 
that  the  scholars  hated  him  for  his  austerity  :  but  all  governors 
were  severe  in  those  days.  The  worst  of  him  was  that  "  he  could 
not  abide  witts  :" — "  If  a  young  scholar  was  recommended  to 
him  for  a  good  witt,  Out  upon  him  !  he  would  say,  I'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him — if  1  wold  look  for  witts  I  wold  go  to 
Newgate,  there  be  the  witts."  Letters  by  Eminent  Persons, 
vol.  ii.  p.  525. 

Aubrey  has  other  complaints;  but  his  idle  stories  are  the 
mere  gossip  of  the  day. — bir  Henry  Savile  was,  after  all,  every 
thing  that  Jonson  describes  him  to  be  ;  and  we  may  securely 
acquiesce  in  the  opinion  of  bishop  Montague,  that  he  was  "  a 
magazine  of  learning,  whose  memory  will  be  honourable  amongst 
not  only  the  vvise?  but  the  righteous  for  ever." 


208  EPIGRAMS. 

For  who  can  master  those  great  parts  like  thee, 
That  liv'st  from  hope,  from  fear,  from  faction 

free? 

Thou  hast  thy  breast  so  clear  of  present  crimes, 
Thou  need'st  not  shrink  at  voice  of  after-times  ; 
Whose  knowledge  claimeth  at  the  helm  to  stand  ; 
But  wisely  thrusts  not  forth  a  forward  hand, 
No  more  than  Salust  in  the  Roman  state : 
As  then  his  cause,  his  glory  emulate. 
Although  to  write  be  lesser  than  to  do, 
It  is  the  next  deed,  and  a  great  one  too. 
We  need  a  man  that  knows  the  several  graces 
Of  history,  and  how  to  apt  their  places  ; 
Where  brevity,  where  splendor,  and  where  height, 
Where  sweetness  is  required,  and  where  weight; 
We  need  a  man  can  speak  of  the  intents,* 
The  councils,  actions,  orders,  and  events 
Of  state,  and  censure  them  ;  we  need  his  pen 
Can  write  the  things,  the  causes,  and  the  men : 
But  most  we  need  his  faith  (and  all  have  you,) 
That  dares  not  write  things  false,  nor  hide  things 

true.' 

XCVI. 

To  JOHN  DONNE. 

Who  shall  doubt,  DONNE,  where  I  a  poet  be,* 
When  I  dare  send  my  Epigrams  to  thee  ? 

8  We  need  a  man  can  speak  of  the  intents, 

The  counsels,  actions,  orders,  and  events,  &c.]  These  are  the 
essentials  of  history,  and  are  laid  down  by  Cicero  (de  Oratore 
lib.  "2.)  as  what  a  good  historian  should  be  capable  of  treating  : 
this  sentiment  is  taken  from  thence.  WIIAL. 

9  That  dares  not,  &c.]  This  is  the  primary  feature  of  a  good 
historian,  according  to  Cicero  :    "  Ne  quidfatsi  dicere  audeat, 
ne  quid  veri  non  audeat." 

1  Who  shall  doubt,  Donne,  where  I  a  poet  be.~]  This  contraction 
of  the  interrogative  whether,  seems  peculiar  to  the  poet.  WaAt.. 

Whalley  is  greatly  mistaken ;  it  is  common  to  them  all. 
Jonson  has  no  peculiarities. 


EPIGRAMS.  209 

That  so  alone  canst  judge,  so  alone  dost  make  : 

And  in  thy  censures,  evenly,  dost  take 

As  free  simplicity,  to  disavow, 

As  thou  hast  hest  authority  t'  allow. 

Read  all  I  send ;  and  if  I  find  but  one 

Mark'd  by  thy  hand,  and  with  the  better  stone, 

My  title's  seal'd.  Those  that  tor  claps  do  write, 

Let  pui'nees',  porters',  players'  praise  delight, 

And  till  they  burst,  their  backs,  like  asses,  load  : 

A  man  should  seek  great  glory,  and  not  broad. 

XCVII. 

ON  THE  NEW  MOTION. 

See  you  yond'  MOTION?  not  the  old  fa-ding, 
Nor  captain  Pod,  nor  yet  the  Eltham  thing  ;' 
But  one  more  rare,  and  in  the  case  so  new: 
His  cloak  with  orient  velvet  quite  lined  through; 
His  rosy  ties  and  garters  so  o'erblown, 
By  his  each  glorious  parcel  to  be  known ! 
He  wont  was  to  encounter  me  aloud, 
Where-e'er  he  met  me,  now  he's  dumb,  or  proud. 
Know  you  the  cause?   he  has  neither  land  nor 

lease, 

Nor  bawdy  stock  that  travels  for  increase, 
Nor  office  in  the  town,  nor  place  in  court, 
Nor  'bout  the  bears,  nor  noise  to  make  lords  sport. 
He  is  no  favourite's  favourite,  no  dear  trust 
Of  any  madam,  hath  need  o'  squires,  and  must. 
Nor  did  the  king  of  Denmark  him  salute,4 
When  he  was  here  ;  nor  hath  he  got  a  suit, 

1  Nor  captain  Pod,  nor  yet  the  Eltham  thing.]  Pod  has  been 
mentioned  before  as  the  master  of  a  puppet-show :  the  Eltham 
thing  is  alluded  to  in  the  Silent  Woman  ;  u  The  perpetual 
motion  is  here,  and  not  at  Eltham."  WHAL. 

For  fa-ding,  see  vol.  vii.  p.  240. 

+  Nor  did  the  king  of  Denmark,  &c.]  Christian  IV.  who 
visited  this  country  in  1606.  See  vol.  ri.  p.  500. 

VOL.  VIII.  P 


210  EPIGRAMS. 

Since  be  was  gone,  more  than  the  one  he  wears. 
Nor  are  the  queen's  most  honour'd  maids  by 

th'  ears 

About  his  form.  What  then  so  swells  each  limb  ? 
Only  his  clothes  have  over-leaven'd  him. 

XCVIIL 
To  SIR  THOMAS  ROE." 

Thou  hast  begun  well,  ROE,  which  stand  well  to, 
And  I  know  nothing  more  thou  hast  to  do. 
He  that  is  round  within  himself,  and  straight,* 
Need  seek  no  other  strength,  no  other  height ; 

5  Sir  Thomas  Roe."]  Grandson  of  sir  Thomas  Roe,  and  nephew 
of  the  sir  John,  and  William  Roe  already  mentioned.  "  In  this 
great  man,"  Granger  truly  says,  "  the  accomplishments  of  the 
scholar,  the  gentleman,  and  the  statesman, were  eminently  united. 
During  his  residence  in  the  Mogul's  court,  he  zealously  promoted 
the  trading  interest  of  this  kingdom,  for  which  the  East  India 
company  is  indebted  to  him  to  this  day.  In  his  embassy  to  the 
Grand  Signior,  ha  collected  many  valuable  Greek  .and  Oriental 
manuscripts,  which  he  presented  to  the  Bodleian  Library,  to 
which  he  left  his  valuable  collection  of  coins.     The  fine  Alex- 
andrian MS.  of  the  Greek  Bible  which  Cyrill,  the  patriarch 
of  Constantinople,  presented  to  Charles  I.  was  procured  by  his 
means.    This  was  afterwards  published  by  Dr.  Grabe.    His 
speech,  at  the  council-table,  against  debasing  the  coin  in  the 
reign  of  Charles,  gained  him  the  highest  reputation.  His  curious 
and  interesting  "  Negotiations"   were  first  published  by  the 
Society  for  promoting  Learning,  1740,  fol." 

Sir  Thomas  was  the  son  of  Robert  Roe :  he  was  born  in 
1580,  and,  about  the  close  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  was  made  esquire 
of  the  body  to  that  princess.  He  was  knighted  by  James  in 
1604,  and  in  1614  appointed,  at  the  request  of  the  East  India 
Company,  ambassador  to  the  Mogul :  he  continued  at  his  court 
four  years,  and  was  dismissed  with  extraordinary  honours.  He 
died  after  a  very  active  and  useful  life  in  1644,  and  was  buried 
in  Woodford  church,  Essex. 

6  He  that  is  roanc/,  &c.]  From  Horace : 

•        totus  teres  atquc  rotundas, 

In  quern  manca  ruitfortunaj  &c. 


EPIGRAMS.  211 

Fortune  upon  him  breaks  herself,  if  ill, 

And  what  would  hurt  his  virtue,  makes  it  still. 

That  thou  at  once  then  nobly  may'st  defend 

With  thine  own  course  thejudgment  of  thy  friend, 

Be  always  to  thy  gather'd  self  the  same  ; 

And  study  conscience  more  than  thou  would'st 

fame. 

Though  both  be  good,  the  latter  yet  is  worst, 
And  ever  is  ill  got  without  the  first. 

XCIX. 

To  THE  SAME. 

That  thou  hast  kept  thy  love,  encreas'd  thy  will, 
Better'd  thy  trust  to  letters  ;  that  thy  skill ; 
Hast  taught  thyself  worthy  thy  pen  to  tread, 
And  that  to  write  things  worthy  to  be  read  : 
How  much  of  great  example  wert  thou,  ROE, 
If  time  to  facts,  as  unto  men  would  owe  ? 
But  much  it  now  avails,  what's  done,  of  whom : 
The  self-same  deeds,  as  diversly  they  come, 
From  place  or  fortune,  are  made  high  or  low, 
And  e'en  the  praiser's  judgment  suffers  so. 
Well,  though  thynameless  than  our  greatonesbe, 
Thy  fact  is  more  :  let  truth  encourage  thee. 

C. 

ON  PLAYWRIGHT.7 

PLAYWRIGHT,  by  chance,  hearing  some  toys  I'd 

writ, 
Cry'd  to  my  face,  they  were  th'  elixir  of  wit : 

1  On  Playwright.']  This  epigram  is  said  by  Stephen  Junes  (the 

person  so  judiciously  selected  by  the  booksellers  to  prepare  the 

new  edition  of  the  Biog  rap/da  Dramaticd)  to  hare  been  written 

on  the  appearance  of  Ford's  Ladies'  Trial.    "  Ben  Jonion  (he 

P2 


212  EPIGRAMS. 

And  I  must  now  believe  him ;  for  to-day, 
Five  of  rny  jests,  then  stolen,  past  him  a  play 

CI. 

INVITING  A  FRIEND  TO  SUPPER. 

To-night,  grave  sir,  both  my  poor  house  and  I 
Do  equally  desire  your  company: 
Not  that  we  think  us  worthy  such  a  guest, 
But  that  your  worth  will  dignify  our  feast, 
With  those  that  come ;  whose  grace  may  make 

that  seem 

Something,  which  else  could  hope  for  no  esteem. 
It  is  the  fair  acceptance,  sir,  creates 
The  entertainment  perfect,  not  the  cates. 
Yet  shall  you  have,  to  rectify  your  palate, 
An  olive,  capers,  or  some  better  sallad 

says)  a  bitter  enemy  of  Ford's^  charges  the  latter  with  having 
stolen  a  character  in  this  play  from  him. 

*'  Playwright  (i.  e.  Ford)  hearing,"  &c. 

Mr.  Jones  has  not  here  the  usual  apology  for  his  stupidity, 
— that  **  he  found  it  so  in  the  former  edition ;"  for  Read, 
though  Macklin's  forgery  lay  before  him,  was  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  dates  to  adopt  it.  The  fact  is,  that  the  Ladies' 
Trial  did  not  appear  till  two  years  after  Jonson's  death, 
while  the  epigram  to  which  it  is  here  said  to  hare  given  birth, 
was  published  two  and  twenty,  and  probably  written  two  and 
thirty  years  before  !  All  this  Mr.  Jones  must  have  found  stated 
in  the  very  paper  from  which  he  copied  the  epigram;  and  all 
this  he  chose  to  conceal  from  an  itch  become  quite  epidemic 
among  the  low  scribblers  of  his  cast,  to  insult  the  memory  of 
Jonson.  The  assertion  that  this  great  poet  was  the  bitter  enemy 
of  Ford,  is  an  echo  of  the  profligate  falsehood  of  Weber, 
who  is  not  afraid  to  declare,  that  it  is  proved  by  indisputable 
documents!  whereas  the  only  memorial  of  any  .passage  whatever 
between  Ford  and  Jonson,  now  known  to  exist,  is  a  rery 
friendly  elegy  by  the  former,  ''  ON  THE  DEATH  or  THB  BEST  OF 
ENGLISH  POETS,  BEN  JONSON."  It  is  mortifying  to  contend  with 
such  a  u  case  of  asses ;" — but  they  must  not  be  suffered  to  kick 
at  the  ashes  of  Jonson  with  impunity. 


EPIGRAMS.  213 

Ushering  the  mutton  ;  with  a  short  legg'd  hen, 
If  we  can  get  her  full  of  eggs,  and  then, 
Limons,  and  wine  for  sauce  :  to  these,  a  coney 
Is  not  to  be  despair'd  of  for  our  money  ; 
And  though  fowl  now  be  scarce,  yet  there  are 

clerks. 

The  sky  not  falling,  think  we  may  have  larks. 
I'll  tell  you  of  more,  and  lie,  so  you  will  come: 
Of  partridge,  pheasant,  woodcock,  of  which  some 
May  yet  be  there  ;  and  god  wit  if  we  can  ; 
Knat,  rail,  and  ruff  too.  Howsoe'er,  my  man 
Shall  read  a  piece  of  Virgil,  Tacitus," 
Livy,  or  of  some  better  book  to  us, 
Of  which  we'll  speak  our  minds,  amidst  our  meat ; 
And  I'll  profess  no  verses  to  repeat  : 
To  this  if  aught  appear,  which  I  not  know  of, 
That  will  the  pastry,  not  my  paper,  show  of. 
Digestive  cheese,  and  fruit  there  sure  will  be; 
But  that  which  most  doth  take  my  muse  and  me, 
Is  a  pure  cup  of  rich  Canary  wine, 
Which  is  the  Mermaid's  now,  but  shall  be  mine  :' 

8  Hozosoe'er  my  man 

Shall  read  a  piece  of  Virgil,  &c.]  Richard  Brome,  his 
servant,  whom  he  had  apparently  instructed  in  Latin,  whose 
talents  justify  his  master's  pains,  and  whose  good  qualities, 
warrant  his  affection.  Jonson  had  Juvenal  in  view  here  : 

Nostra  dabunt  alias  hodie  convivia  ludos  ; 

Condilor  Iliados  cantahitur,  atque  Maronis 

Altisoni  dubiam  facientia  carmina  palmam.     Sat.  11. 

'  Which  is  the  Mermaid's  now,  but  shall  be  mine.']  The  Mer- 
maid, a  tavern  in  Bread-street,  at  that  time  frequented  by  our 
author,  and  his  poetical  friends  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and 
the  reigning  wits  of  the  age.  WHAL. 

This  is  from  Horace's  Invitation,  to  Virgil: 

Nardi  parvus  onyx  eliciet  cadum 
Qui  nunc  Sufpiciis  accubet  horreis, 
Spes  donare  novas  largus,"  &c. 

But  the  plan  of  the  whole  is  from  a  little  poem  of  Martial, 


214  EPIGRAMS. 

Of  which  had  Horace  or  Anacreon  tasted, 
Their  lives,  as  do  their  lines,  till  now  had  lasted. 
Tohacco,  nectar,  or  the  Thespian  spring, 
Are  all  hut  Luther's  heer,  to  this  I  sing. 
Of  this  we  will  sup  free,  but  moderately, 
And  we  will  have  no  Pooly',  or  Parrot  by  ; 
Nor  shall  our  cups  make  any  guilty  men  : 
But  at  our  parting,  we  will  be,  as  when 
We  innocently  met.  No  simple  word, 
That  shall  be  utter'd  at  our  mirthful  board, 
Shall  make  us  sad  next  morning ;    or  affright 
The  liberty,  that  we'll  enjoy  to-night. 

CII. 

To  WILLIAM  EARL  OF  PEMBROKE. 

I  do  but  name  thee,  PEMBROKE,  and  I  find 
It  is  an  epigram  on  all  mankind ; 
Against  the  bad,  but  of,  and  to  the  good : 
Both  which  are  ask'd,  to  have  thee  understood. 
Nor  could  the  age  havemiss'd  thee,  in  this  strife 
Of  vice  and  virtue,  wherein  all  great  life 
Almost  is  exercised ;  and  scarce  one  knows, 
To  which,  yet,  of  the  sides  himself  he  owes. 
They  follow  virtue  for  reward  to-day  ; 
To-morrow  vice,  if  she  give  better  pay: 
And  are  so  good,  and  bad,  just  at  a  price, 
As  nothing  else  discerns  the  virtue'  or  vice. 

Hb.  x.  epig.  48,  of  which  it  has  many  incidental  imitations,  par- 
ticularly of  the  concluding  lines  : 

De  Nomentana  vinum  sine  facet  lagena, 

Quce  bis  Frontinu  consult  plena  fuit. 
Accedent  sintjtllejuci^  me  mane  timt  nda 

Libertas,  ct  nil  quud  tacuisse  velis  : 
De  Prasino  conviva  meus,  Venetoque  loqvatur; 

Necfacient  qucnquam  pocula  nostra  rcum. 


EPIGRAMS.  215 

But  thou,  whose  noblesse  keeps  one  stature  still,* 
And  one  true  posture,  though  besieged  with  ill 
Of  what  ambition,  faction,  pride  can  raise  ; 
Whose  life,  even  they  that  envy  it,  must  praise ; 
That  art  so  reverenced,  as  thy  coming  in, 
But  in  the  view,  doth  interrupt  their  sin; 
Thou  must  draw  more  :  and  they  that  hope  to  see 
The  commonwealth  still  safe,  must  study  thee 


cm. 

To  MARY  LADY  WROTH.* 

How  well,  fair  crown  of  your  fair  sex,  might  he 
That  but  the  twilight  of  your  sprite  did  see, 
And  noted  for  what  flesh  such  souls  were  fram'd, 
Know  you  to  be  a  Sidney,  though  unnam'd  ? 
And  being  nam'd,  how  little  doth  that  name 
Need  any  muse's  praise  to  give  it  fame? 
Which  is  itself  the  imprese  of  the  great, 
And  glory  of  them  all,  but  to  repeat ! 
Forgive  me  then,  if  mine  but  say  you  are 
A  Sidney;  but  in  that  extend  as  far 
As  loudest  praisers,  who  perhaps  would  find 
For  every  part  a  character  assigned  : 
My  praise  is  plain,  and  wheresoe  er  profest, 
Becomes  none  more  than  you,  who  need  it  least. 

*  But  thou  whose  noblesse,  &c.]  i.  e.  nobleness,  nobility.  A 
word  which  we  have  very  improvidently  suffered  to  become 
obsolete. 

1  To  Mary  lady  Wroth.]  She  was  a  woman  of  genius,  and 
wrote  a  romance  called  Urania,  printed  in  folio,  1621  ;  she 
was  wife  to  sir  Robert  Wroth  of  Durance,  in  the  county  of 
Middlesex,  and  daughter  to  Robert  carl  of  Leicester,  a  younger 
brother  of  sir  Philip  Sidney.  WUAL. 


216  EPIGRAMS. 

CIV. 
To  SUSAN  COUNTESS  OF  MONTGOMERY.* 

Were  they  that  nam'd  you,  prophets  ?    did  they 

see, 

Even  in  the  dew  of  grace,  what  you  would  be? 
Or  did  our  times  require  it,  to  behold 
A  new  SUSANNA,  equal  to  that  old? 
Or,  because  some  scarce  think  that  story  true, 
To  make  those  faithful  did  the  Fates  send  you, 
And  to  your  scene  lent  no  less  dignity 
Of  birth,  of  match,  of  form,  of  chastity? 
Or,  more  than  born  for  the  comparison 
Of  former  age,  or  glory  of  our  own, 
Were  you  advanced,  past  those  times,  to  be 
The  light  and  mark  unto  posterity  ? 
Judge  they  that  can  :  here  I  have  raised  to  show, 
A  picture,  which  the  world  for  yours  must  know, 
And  like  it  too;  if  they  look  equally: 
If  not,  'tis  fit  for  you,  some  should  envy. 

*  To  Susan  countess  of  Montgomery-!  Wife  to  Philip  earl  of 
Montgomery,  and  grand-daughter  to  William  lord  Burleigh. 

WHAL. 

This  accomplished  and  excellent  woman,  who  appeared  in 
most  of  Jonson's  Masques  at  court,  has  been  more  than  once 
noticed.  She  was  a  lady  of  strict  piety  and  virtue,  and  wrote  a 
little  treatise  called  Eusebia,  expressing  briefly  the  Soul's  praying 
robes,  1620. 

It  is  much  to  the  credit,  or  the  good  fortune  of  "  that  me- 
morable simpleton,"  as  Walpole  calls  him,  Philip  Herbert,  to 
have  married  in  succession  two  wives  ot  such  di>tmgiiished 
worth.  His  second,  as  the  reader  knows,  was  the  high-born  and 
high. spirited  daughter  of  George  earl  of  Cumberland,  widow 
of  Richard  Sackville,  earl  of  Dorset. 


EPIGRAMS.  217 

CV. 

To  MARY  LADY  WROTH. 

Madam,  had  all  antiquity  been  lost, 
All  history  seal'd  up,  and  fables  crost, 
That  we  had  left  us,  nor  by  time,  nor  place, 
Least  mention  of  a  Nymph,  a  Muse,  a  Grace, 
But  even  their  names  were  to  be  made  anew, 
Who  could  not  but  create  them  all  from  you? 
He,  that  hut  saw  you  wear  the  wheaten  hat, 
Would  call  you  more  than  Ceres,  if  not  that ; 
And  drest  in  shepherd's  tire,  who  would  not  say 
You  were  the  bright  (Enone,  Flora,  or  May  ? 
If  dancing,  all  would  cry,  the  Idalian  queen 
Were  leading  forth  the  Graces  on  the  green  ; 
And  armed  to  the  chase,  so  bare  her  bow 
Diana'  alone,  so  hit,  and  hunted  so. 
There's  none  so  dull,  that  for  your  style  would  ask, 
That  saw  you  put  on  Pallas'  plumed  cask; 
Or,  keeping  your  due  state,  that  would  not  cry, 
There  Juno  sat,  and  yet  no  peacock  by : 
So  are  you  nature's  index,  and  restore, 
In  yourself,  all  treasure  lost  of  the  age  before. 

CVI. 

To  SIR  EDWARD  HERBERT. 3 

If  men  get  name  for  some  one  virtue ;  then, 
What  man  art  thou,  that  art  so  many  men, 

3  Sir  Edward  Herbert.}  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury.  He  was 
a  person  of  great  learning  and  of  many  excellent  qualities  as  a 
statesman,  a  gentleman,  and  a  scholar.  This  was  all  that  was 
known  of  him  at  the  period  when  this  epigram  appeared  ;  but 
he  subsequently  fell  into  strange  contradictions  :  with  great 


218  EPIGRAMS. 

All-virtuous  Herbert  !  on  whose  every  part 
Truth  might  spend  all  her  voice,  fame  all  her  art  ? 
Whether  thy  learning  they  would  take,  or  wit, 
Or  valour,  or  thy  judgment  seasoning  it, 
Thy  standing  upright  to  thyself,  thy  ends 
Like  straight,  thy  piety  to  God,  and  friends : 
Their  latter  praise  would  still  the  greatest  be, 
And  yet  they,  all  together,  less  than  thee. 

CVII. 
To  CAPTAIN  HUNGRY. 

Do  what  you  come  for,  captain,  with  your  news ; 
That's  sit  and  eat:  do  not  my  ears  abuse. 
I  oft  look  on  false  coin  to  know't  from  true ; 
Not  that  I  love  it  more  than  I  will  you. 
Tell  the  gross  Dutch  those  grosser  tales  of  yours, 
How  great  you  were  with  their  "two  emperours ; 
And  yet  are  with  their  princes :  fill  them  full 
Of  your  Moravian  horse,  Venetian  bull. 
Tell  them,  what  parts  you've  ta'en,  whence  run 

away, 
What  states  you've  gull'd,  and  which  yet  keeps 

you'  in  pay. 

Give  them  your  services,  and  embassies 
In  Ireland,  Holland,  Sweden;  pompous  lies  ! 
In  Hungary  and  Poland,  Turky  too ; 
What  at  Ligorne,  Rome,  Florence  you  did  do : 

professions  of  piety  he  openly  disavowed  all  belief  in  a  divine 
revelation,  and  yet  persuaded  himself  that  his  own  prayers  were 
audibly  answered  from  heaven  !  He  was  advanced  to  the  dignity 
of  baron  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland,  in  1625,  and  in  1631  was 
created  lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  in  Shropshire,  a  favour  which 
he  repaid  by  joining  the  enemies  of  his  sovereign,  on  the  breaking 
out  of  the  civil  war.  His  death  took  place  in  l6'48.  "  He  died 
(Aubrey  says)  very  serenely  ;  asked  what  it  was  o'clock,  and 
then,"  sayed  he,  "  an  hour  hence  I  shall  depart!"  He  then 
turned  his  head  to  the  other  side,  and  expired." 


EPIGRAMS.  219 

And,  in  some  year,  all  these  together  heap'd, 
For  which  there  must  more  sea  and  land  be  leap'd, 
If  hut  to  be  believed  you  have  the  hap, 
Than  can  a  flra  at  twice  skip  in  the  map. 
Give  your  young  statesmen  (that  first  make  you 

drunk, 

And  then  lye  with  you,  closer  than  a  punk, 
For  news)  your  Vilferoys,  and  Silleries, 
lanins,  your  Nuncios,  and  your  Tuilleries, 
Your  Archdukes  agents,  and  your  Beringhams, 
That  are  your  words  of  credit.  Keep  your  names 
Of  Hannow,  Shieter-huissen,  Popenheim, 
Hans-spiegle,  Rotteinberg,  and  Boutersheim, 
For  your  next  meal ;  this  you  are  sure  of.  Why 
Will  you  part  with  them  here  unthriftily  ? 
Nay,  now  you  puff,  tusk,  and  draw  up  your  chin, 
Twirl  the  poor  chain  you  run  a-feasting  in. — 
Come,  be  not  angry,  you  are  HUNGRY  ;  eat: 
Dowhatyoucome  for,  captain;  there's  your  meat, 

CVI1I. 

To  TRUE  SOLDIERS. 

Strength  of  my  country,  whilst  I  bring  to  view 
Such  as  are  miscall'd  captains,  and  wrong  you, 

4  To  true  soldiers.]  We  have  this  epigram  in  the  Apologetical 
Dialogue,  printed  at  the  end  of  the  Poetaster :  and  it  seems  to 
hare  been  written  as  a  kind  of  compensation  for  the  character 
of  captain  Tucca,  in  that  play.  WHAL. 

This  was  written  before  the  Poetaster.  Could  not  Whalley 
see  that  it  alluded  to  the  captain  in  the  preceding  epigram  ?  If 
there  was  any  soldier  stupid  enough  to  take  the  character  of 
Tucca  as  a  reflexion  on  the  army,  he  was  not  to  be  reclaimed 
to  sense  by  the  power  of  Terse.  Jonson  produced  the  epi- 
gram in  hia  Apology  to  shew  that  he  entertained  no  disre- 
spectful opinion  of  the  profession  of  a  soldier.  In  a  word,  it  is 
impossible  to  read  that  comedy,  and  listen  to  the  complaints 
which  the  men  of  arms  and  of  law  are  said  to  hare  made  on  the 


220  EPIGRAMS. 

And  your  high  names  ;  I  do  desire  that  thence 
Be  nor  put  on  you,  nor  you  take  offence. 
I  swear  by  your  true  friend,  my  muse,  I  love 
Your  great  profession,  which  I  once  did  prove  ; 
And  did  not  shame  it  with  my  actions  then, 
No  more  than  I  dare  now  do  with  my  pen. 
He  that  not  trusts  me,  having  vow'd  thus  much,. 
But's  angry  for  the  captain,  still;  is  such.* 

CIX. 
To  SIR  HENRY  NEVIL.* 

Who  now  calls  on  thee,  NEVIL,  is  a  muse, 
That  serves  not  fame,  nor  titles  ;  but  doth  chuse 

occasion,  without  discovering  that  they  were  more  captious  than 
just,  and  that  the  poet  himself  was  the  calumniated  person. 

*  ---  is  such.]  i.  e.  is  the  captain  Hungry  whom  I 
have  just  satirized.  The  observation  is  well-timed. 

5  To  sir  Henry  Nevil.]  Son  to  Edward  lord  Abergavenny  : 
he  succeeded  his  father  in  the  title  in  1622,  and  died  in  De- 
cember 1641.  Holland,  in  his  additions  to  Camdcn's  Britannia, 
mentions  a  place  in  Berkshire,  called  Bilingsbere,  the  inhabi- 
tation of  sir  Henry  Nevil,  issued  from  the  lord  Abergavenny. 


Surely  Whalley  has  mistaken  the  person  to  whom  this  is 
addressed,  or  confounded  two  different  characters.  The  sir 
Henry  Neville  of  the  poet  was  the  son  of  sir  H.  Neville  of 
Billingbear,  by  Elizabeth,  a  daughter  of  sir  John  Gresham.  He 
was  a  very  distinguished  statesman,  and  much  employed  by  the 
Queen,  to  whom  he  was  introduced  by  Cecil.  He  was  connected 
•with  the  secretary  by  marriage  ;  but  he  was  less  indebted  to 
this  for  his  promotion  at  court  than  to  his  own  merits  :  "  being," 
as  Mr.  Lodge  says,  "  a  person  of  great  wisdom  and  integrity." 
He  was  sent  ambassador  to  France  in  1599,  whence  he  returned 
in  the  following  year,  time  enough,  unfortunately  for  his  future 
peace  and  prosperity,  to  be  implicated  in  the  wild  treason  of 
the  earl  of  Essex,  He  was  committed  to  the  Tower,  "  which," 
says  Cecil  to  sir  Ralph  Winwood,  "  being  rather  matter  of 
form  than  substance,  if  any  of  his  friends  should  have  indus- 
triously opposed,  it  had  been  the  ready  way  to  have  forced  a 


EPIGRAMS.  221 

Where  virtue  makes  them  both,  and  that's  in 

thee : 

Where  all  is  fair  beside  thy  pedigree. 
Thou  art  not  one  seek'st  miseries  with  hope, 
Wrestlest  with  dignities,  or  feign'st  a  scope 
Of  service  to  the  public,  when  the  end 
Is  private  gain,  which  hath  long  guilt  to  friend. 
Thou  rather  striv'st  the  matter  to  possess, 
And  elements  of  honour,  than  the  dress  ; 
To  make  thy  lent  life  good  against  the  fates  : 
And  first  to  know  thine  own  state,  then  the  state*s; 
To  be  the  same  in  root  thou  art  in  height ; 
And  that  thy  soul  should   give  thy  flesh  her 

weight. 

course  of  more  severity."  What  more  was  to  be  feared,  I  kno\v 
not,  but  he  was  heavily  fined  ;  and  his  release  from  the  Tower 
did  not  take  place  till  some  months  after  the  accession  of  James. 
That  he  had  really  been  in  some  danger,  may  be  collected  from 
the  following  passage : 

tl  Thou  rather  stri?'st  the  matter  to  possess, 
And  elements  of  honour,  than  the  dress  ; 
To  make  thy  lent  life  good  against  the  fates, 
And  thence,"  &c. 

But  though  restored  to  liberty,  he  was  not  advanced,  as  was 
generally  expected.  "  All  men  (sir  Henry  Wotton  says)  con- 
template sir  Henry  Neville  for  the  future  secretary ;  some 
saying  that  it  is  but  deferred  till  the  return  of  the  queen  (Anne, 
-who  was  then  at  Bath)  that  she  may  be  allowed  a  hand  in  his 
introduction !"  James,  however,  had  strong  prepossessions 
against  him,  which  no  interest  could  overcome,  and  the  little 
remainder  of  this  able  statesman's  life  (for  his  correspondence 
is  among  the  best  in  Winwood's  collection)  passed  in  dejection 
and  comparative  obscurity.  It  is  to  the  honour  of  Jonson's 
steady  friendship,  that  he  liberally  praises,  and  commends  to 
the  notice  of  posterity  a  worthy  man  depressed  by  two  sove- 
reigns, by  each  of  whom  he  was  himself  favoured  and  patronized. 

Sir  Ilrnry  died  l6l5.  He  married  Anne,  daughter  of  sir 
Henry  Killigrew  of  Cornwall  ;  by  whom  he  had  seven  sons, 
whose  descendants  yet  enjoy  the  family,  seat  of  their  great 
ancestor. 


222  EPIGRAMS. 

Go  on,  and  doubt  not  what  posterity, 
Now  I  have  sung  thee  thus,  shall  judge  of  thee. 
Thy  deeds  unto  thy  name  will  prove  new  wombs, 
Whilst  others  toil  for  titles  to  their  tombs. 

CX. 

To  CLEMENT  EDMONDS, 

ON  HIS  CAESAR'S  COMMENTARIES  OBSERVED  AND 
TRANSLATED.' 

Not  Caesar's  deeds,  nor  all  his  honours  won, 

In  these  west  parts,7  nor,  when  that  war  was  done, 

The  name  of  Pompey  for  an  enemy, 

Cato's  to  boot ;  Rome,  and  her  liberty, 

All  yielding  to  his  fortune,  nor,  the  while, 

To  have  engraved  these  acts  with  his  own  style, 

And   that  so   strong  and   deep,   as't  might  be 

thought 

He  wrote  with  the  same  spirit  that  he  fought; 
Nor  that  his  work  lived  in  the  hands  of  foes, 
Unargued  then,  and  yet  hath  fame  from  those  ; 
Not  all  these,  EDMONDS,  or  what  else  put  to, 
Can  so  speak  Caesar,  as  thy  labours  do. 
For  where  his  person  lived  scarce  one  just  age, 
And  that  midst  envy  and  parts ;  then  fell  by  rage : 
His  deeds  too  dying,  but  in  books,  whose  good 
How  few  have  read  !  how  fewer  understood  ! 
Tliy  learned  hand  and  true  Promethean  art, 
As  by  a  new  creation,  part  by  part, 

•  To  Clement  Edmonds,  on  his  Caesar's  Commentaries.'}  Of  thii 
learned  gentleman,  who  bore  several  public  offices,  during  the 
reigns  of  queen  Elizabeth  and  James  I.  the  reader  has  an  account 
in  the  Athenat  Oxonienses.  WHAL. 

This,  and  the  following  poem  were  prefixed,  with  other  corn- 
men  datory  verses  to  "  Observations  upon  Caesar's  Commentaries: 
by  Clement  Edmundes,  Remembrancer  of  the  city  of  London,  fol. 

7  In  these  west  parts.]  i.  e.  in  Gaul  and  Britain. 


EPIGRAMS.  223 

In  every  counsel,  stratagem,  design, 
Action,  or  engine,  worth  a  note  of  thine, 
To  all  future  time  not  only  doth  restore 
His  life,  but  makes,  that  he  can  die  no  more. 

CXI. 

To  THE  SAME, 
ON  THE  SAME. 

Who,  EDMONDS,  reads  thy  book,  and  doth  not  see 
What  the  antique  soldiers  were,  the  modern  be? 
Wherein  thou  shew'st,  how  much  the  later  are 
Beholding  to  this  master  of  the  war  ; 
And  that  in  action  there  is  nothing  new, 
More,  than  to  vary  what  our  elders  knew ; 
Which  all  but  ignorant  captains  will  confess  ; 
Nor  to  give  Csesar  this,  makes  ours  the  less. 
Yet  thou,  perhaps,  shalt  meet  some  tongues  will 

grutch, 

That  to  the  world  thou  should'st  reveal  so  much, 
And  thence  deprave  thee  and  thy  work  :  to  those 
Caesar  stands  up,  as  from  his  urn  late  rose, 
By  thy  great  help  ;  and  doth  proclaim  by  me, 
They  murder  him  again,  that  envy  thee. 

CXII. 

To  A  WEAK  GAMESTER  IN  POETRY. 

With  thy  small  stock,  why  art  thou  venturing 

still, 

At  this  so  subtle  sport,  and  play'st  so  ill  f 
Think'st  thou  it  is  mere  fortune,  that  can  win, 
Or  thy  rank  setting  ?  that  thou  clar'st  put  in 
Thy  all,  at  all  :  and  whatsoe'er  I  do, 
Art  still  at  that,  and  think'st  to  blow  me'  up  too? 


224  EPIGRAMS. 

I  cannot  for  the  stage  a  drama  lay, 
Tragic  or  comic ;  but  thou  writ'st  the  play. 
I  leave  thee  there,  and  giving  way,  intend 
An  epic  poem  ;  thou  hast  the  same  end. 
I  modestly  quit  that,  and  think  to  write, 
Next  morn,  an  ode ;  thou  mak'st  a  song  ere  night. 
I  pass  to  elegies  ;  thou  meet'st  me  there  : 
To  satires  ;  and  thou  dost  pursue  me.  Where, 
Where  shall  I  scape  thee  ?  in  an  epigram  ? 
O,  thou  cry'st  out,  that  is  my  proper  game. 
Troth,  if  it  be,  I  pity  thy  ill  luck  ; 
That  both  for  wit  and  sense  so  oft  dost  pluck, 
And  never  art  encounter'd,  I  confess ; 
Nor  scarce  dost  colour  for  it,  which  is  less. 
Prithee,  yet  save  thy  rest;  give  o'er  in  time  : 
There's  no  vexation  that  can  make  thee  prime.* 

CXIII. 
To  SIR  THOMAS  OVERBURY.* 

So  Phoebus  make  me  worthy  of  his  bays, 
As  but  to  speak  thee,  Overbury,  's  praise : 

8  There's  no  vexation  that  can  make  thee  prime.]  This  is  an 
excellent  little  poem  ;  the  allusion  to  a  set  at  primero,  which 
pervades  the  whole  of  it,  is  supported  with  equal  spirit  and 
ingenuity. 

One  of  sir  John  Harrington's  "  epigrams,"  or,  as  Jonson  called 
them,  "  narrations,"  contains  "  the  story  of  Marcus'  life  at 
primero."  In  this  the  various  accidents  of  the  game  are  detailed 
with  great  dulness  and  prolixity.  A  short  specimen  taken  at 
random,  will  shew  how  closely  our  author  has  kept  to  the  terms 
of  the  game. 

"  But  Marcus  nerer  can  encounter  right, 
Yet  drew  two  aces,  and  for  further  spight 
Had  colour  for  if,  with  a  hopeful  draught, 
But  not  encountered,  it  arail'd  him  naught." 

'  Sir  Thomas  Overbury. ~]  This  epigram  was  probably  written 


EPIGRAMS. 

So  where  thou  lir'st,  thou  mak'st  life  understood, 
Where,  what  makes  other  great,  doth  keep  thee 

good  ! 

I  think,  the  fate  of  court  thy  coming  crav'd, 
That  the  wit  there  and  manners  might  be  sav'd  : 
For  since,  what  ignorance,  what  pride  is  fled  ! 
And  letters,  and  humanity  in  the  stead  ! 
Repent  thee  not  of  thy  fair  precedent, 
Could  make  such  men,  and  such  a  place  repent : 
Nor  may  any  fear  to  lose  of  their  degree, 
Who'  in  such  ambition  can  but  follow  thee. 

CXIV. 

To  MISTRESS  PHILIP  SIDNEY.' 

I  must  believe  some  miracles  still  be, 
When  Sidney's  name  I  hear,  or  face  I  see  : 

about  1610,  when  sir  Thomas  returned  from  his  travels,  and 
followed  the  fortunes  of  Carr  with  a  zeal  and  integrity  worthy 
of  a  better  fate.  That  sir  Thomas  was  poisoned  in  the  Tower  by 
the  infamous  countess  of  Essex  is  well  known  ;  but  it  has  been, 
and  indeed  still  may  be  made  a  question,  whether  Carr  himself 
was  privy  to  this  atrocious  fact.  It  is  said  that  his  opposition  to 
the  marriage  between  his  friend  and  the  divorced  countess  made 
it  expedient  to  remove  him  from  court,  and  that  while  Rochester 
(Carr)  intreated  the  king  to  bestow  an  embassy  upon  him,  he 
secretly  instigated  Overbury  to  refuse  the  charge.  It  would 
seem  however  from  Winwood's  State  Papers  (TO!,  iii.  p.  447, 
453,  475,)  that  the  refusal  originated  with  sir  Thomas  himself, 
who  was  of  a  lofty  and  unmanageable  spirit.  However  it  might 
be,  James  was  justly  irritated  ;  the  destined  victim  was  com- 
mitted to  the  Tower,  and  the  catastrophe  followed  with  fatal 
speed. 

Overbury  was  of  an  ancient  family  in  Warwickshire.  He 
was  born  in  1581,  came  to  court  to  push  his  fortune  in  1604, 
was  knighted  in  1608,  and  died  in  1613.  He  was  highly  accom- 
plished, and,  as  Granger  truly  remarks,  was  "  pos«essed  of 
parts,  learning,  and  judgment,  beyond  his  years." 

1  Daughter  of  that  great  statesman,  sir  Francis  Walsingham, 

VOL.  VIII.  Q 


226  EPIGRAMS. 

For  Cupid,  who  at  first  took  vain  delight 
In  mere  out-forms,  until  he  lost  his  sight, 
Hath  changed  his  soul,  and  made  his  object  you : 
Where  finding  so  much  beauty  met  with  virtue, 
He  hath  not  only  gain'd  himself  his  eyes, 
But,  in  your  love,  made  all  his  servants  wise. 

cxv. 

ON  THE  TOWN'S  HONEST  MAN. 

You  wonder  who  this  is,  and  why  I  name 
Him  not  aloud,  that  boasts  so  good  a  fame : 
Naming  so  many  too  !  but  this  is  one, 
Suffers  no  name,  but  a  description ; 
Being  no  vicious  person,  but  the  Vice 
About  the  town  ;  and  known  too,  at  that  price. 
A  subtle  thing  that  doth  affections  win 
By  speaking  well  o'  the  company  it's  in. 
Talks  loud  and  bawdy,  has  a.  gather'd  deal 
Of  news  and  noise,  to  sow  out  a  long  meal. 
Can  come  from  Tripoly,8  leap  stools,  and  wink, 
Do  all  that  longs  to  the  anarchy  of  drink, 
Except  the  duel :  can  sing  songs  and  catches  ; 
Give  every  one  his  dose  of  mirth:  and  watches 
Whose  name's  unwelcome  to  the  present  ear, 
And  him  it  lays  on  ; — if  he  be  not  there. 
Tells  of  him  all  the  tales  itself  then  makes  ; 
But  if  it  shall  be  question'd,  undertakes, 
It  will  deny  all ;  and  forswear  it  too ; 
Not  that  it  fears,  but  will  not  have  to  do 

many  years  principal  secretary  to  que«n  Elizabeth,  and  widow 
of  sir  Philip  Sidney.  Walsingham  died  poor,  so  that  his  daughter, 
who  was  also  his  heiress,  brought  little  to  her  husband  besides 
her  beauty  and  her  virtues. 

*  Can  come  from  Tripoly.]    i.  e.  Can  jump,  and  do  feats  of 
activity  :  aee  the  Silent  Woman.     WHAL. 


EPIGRAMS. 

With  such  a  one  :  and  therein  keeps  its  word. 
'Twill  see  its  sister  naked,  ere  a  sword. 
At  every  meal,  where  it  doth  dine  or  sup, 
The  cloth's  no  sooner  gone,  hut  it  gets  up, 
And  shifting  of  its  faces,  doth  play  more 
Parts  than  the  Italian  could  do,  with  his  door.1 
Acts  Old  Iniquity,  and  in  the  n't 
Of  miming,  gets  the  opinion  of  a  wit. 
Executes  men  in  picture  ;  by  defect, 
From  friendship,  is  its  own  fame's  architect: 
An  inginer  in  slanders  of  all  fashions, 
That,  seeming  praises,  are  yet  accusations. 
Described  it's  thus:  defined  would  you  it  have  P 
Then,  the  TOWN'S  HONEST  MAN'S  her  errant'st 
knave. 


CXVI. 
To  SIR  WILLIAM  JEPHSON. 

JEPHSON,  thou  man  of  men,  to  whose  lov'd  name, 
All  gentry  yet  owe  part  of  their  best  flame . 
So  did  thy  virtue  inform,  thy  wit  sustain 
That  age,  when  thou  stood'st  up  the  master-brain ; 


Doth  play  more 


Parts  than  the  Italian  eoulddo,  with  his  door.]  An  allusion 
to  an  Italian,  then  well  known  for  his  performances  and  tricks 
of  art :  the  person  meant,  I  believe,  is  taken  notice  of  in  king 
James's  D&monology,  and  is  ther«  called  Scoto :  "  The  devil 
will  learn  them  many  juglary  tricks  at  cards,  dice,  and  such 
like,  to  deceive  mens  senses  thereby,  and  such  innumerable 
false  practics,  which  are  proved  by  over  many  in  this  age;  as 
they  who  are  acquainted  with  that  Italian  called  Scoto,  yet 
living,  can  report.''  Lib.  1.  p.  1C5.  Old  Iniquity,  means  the 
character  called  the  Vice,  in  our  ancient  Moralities  :  it  has  a 
place  in  our  author's  comedy,  The  Devil  is  an  Ass.  WHAL. 

This  is  an  excellent  piece,  full  of  strong  sense,  and  just  satire. 
It  will  serve  for  all  times. 

Q2 


228  EPIGRAMS. 

Thou   wert   the  first   mad'st  merit   know   her 

strength, 

And  those  that  lack'd  it,  to  suspect  at  length, 
'Twas  not  entail'd  on  title :  that  some  word 
Might  he  found  out  as  good,  and  not  "  my  lord  :" 
That  nature  no  such  difference  had  imprest 
In  men,  but  every  bravest  was  the  best ; 
That  blood  not  minds,  but  mindsdid  blood  adorn; 
And  to  live  great  was  better  than  great  born. 
These  were  thy  knowing  arts:  which  who  doth 

now 

Virtuously  practise,  must  at  least  allow 
Them  in,  if  not  from  thee,  or  must  commit 
A  desperate  solcecism  in  truth  and  wit. 


CXVII. 
ON  GROINE. 

GROINE,  come  of  age,  his  state  sold  out  of  hand 
For 's  whore :  Groine  doth  still  occupy  his  land. 

CXVIII. 
ON  GUT. 

GUT  eats  all  day  and  letchers  all  the  night, 
So  all  his  meat  he  tasteth  over  twice ; 

And  striving  so  to  double  his  delight, 

He  makes  himself  a  thorough-fare  of  vice. 

Thus,  in  his  belly,  can  he  change  a  sin, 

Lust  it  comes  out,  that  gluttony  went  in. 


EPIGRAMS.  229 

CXIX. 

To  SIR  RALPH  SHELTON.* 

Not  he  that  flies  the  court  for  want  of  clothes, 
At  hunting  rails,  having  no  gift  in  oaths, 
Cries  out  'gainst  cocking,  since  he  cannot  bet, 
Shuns  press — for  two  main  causes,  pox  and  debt, 
With  me  can  merit  more,  than  that  good  man, 
Whose  dice  not  doing  well,  to  a  pulpit  ran. — 
No,  Shelton,  give  me  thee,  canst  want  all  these, 
But  dost  it  out  of  judgment,  not  disease; 
Dar'st  breathe  in  any  air;  and  with  safe  skill, 
Till  thou  canst  find  the  best,  choose  the  least  ill. 
That  to  the  vulgar  canst  thyself  apply, 
Treading  a  better  path,  not  contrary; 
And  in  their  error's  maze  thine  own  way  know: 
Which  is  to  live  to  conscience,  riot  to  show. 
He  that,  but  living  half  his  age,  dies  such,* 
Makes  the  whole  longer  than  'twas  given  him, 
much. 

cxx. 

AN  EPITAPH  ON  SALATHIEL  PAVY,  A  CHILD  OF 
QUEEN  ELIZABETH'S  CHAPEL. 

Weep  with  me,  all  you  that  read 
This  little  story : 

*  This  is  the  person  who  engaged  with  Mr.  Hayden,  in  the 
mad  frolic  of  rowing  up  Fleet  Ditch  to  Holborn,  celebrated, 
page  241  ;  but  I  know  nothing  more  of  him. 

5  He  that  but  living  half  his  age,  dies  sue//, 

Makes  the  whole  longer  than  'twas  given  him,  much.] 

Qui  sic  vel  media  Jinitus  vixit  in  ccvo 

Longior  huicfacta  est  quam  data  vitafuit. 

Mart.  lib.  riii.  27. 

6  Salathiel  Pavy.]  The  subject  of  this  beautiful  epitaph  acted 


230  EPIGRAMS. 

And  know,  for  whom  a  tear  you  shed 

Death's  self  is  sorry. 
'Twas  a  child  that  so  did  thrive 

In  grace  and  feature, 
As  heaven  and  nature  seem'd  to  strive 

Which  own'd  the  creature. 
Years  he  number'd  scarce  thirteen 

When  fates  turn'd  cruel, 
Yet  three  fill'd  zodiacs  had  he  been 

The  stage's  jewel ; 
And  did  act,  what  now  we  moan, 

Old  men  so  duly, 
As,  sooth,  the  Parcae  thought  him  one, 

He  play'd  so  truly. 

in  Cynthia's  Revels,  and  in  the  Poetaster,  1600  and  1601,  in 
which  year  he  probably  died.  The  poet  speaks  of  him  with 
interest  and  affection,  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  he  was  a 
boy  of  extraordinary  talents.  Many  of  the  children  of  St.  Paul's, 
as  well  as  of  the  queen's  chapel,  evinced  great  powers  on  the 
stage,  at  a  very  early  period  of  life,  and  not  a  few  of  them 
became  the  pride  and  ornament  of  it  in  riper  years. 

Our  times  have  witnessed  several  attempts  to  bring  children 
(pert  boys  and  girls)  upon  the  stage,  as  prodigies,  which  have 
all  terminated,  as  might  reasonably  be  expected,  in  disappoint- 
ment and  disgrace.  It  should  be  recollected  that  the  "  children" 
of  the  old  theatre  were  strictly  educated,  and  that  they  were 
opposed  only  to  one  another.  Nothing  so  monstrous  ever  en- 
tered into  the  thoughts  of  the  managers  of  those  days  as  taking 
infants  from  the  cock-horse,  and  setting  them  to  act  with  men 
and  women. ^-And  yet  it  would  be  unjust,  perhaps,  to  attribute 
the  present  encouragement  of  this  degrading  exhibition  wholly 
to  the  managers  :  if  they  took  advantage  of  the  gross  folly  of 
that  many-headed  beast,  the  town,  and  indulged  its  vitiated 
taste,  they  did  little  more  than  their  precarious  situation  seemed 
to  warrant. — Let  not  Mr.  Kemble,  however,  be  defrauded  of 
his  due  praise  :  but  for  his  judicious  and  well-timed  humour  in 
arranging  the  characters  of  the  Provoked  Husband  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  place  the  absurdity  of  the  attempt  in  the  most 
glaring  light,  that  forward  baby,  Miss  Mudie,  would  have  dis- 
graced and  delighted  all  London  for  the  season,  instead  of  being 
sent  back  to  her  dirt-pies,  and  her  doll,  after  a  single  exposure. 


So,  by  error  to  his  fate ' 

They  all  consented ; 
But  viewing  him  since,  alas,  too  late  ! 

They  have  repented ; 
And  have  sought,  to  give  new  birth, 

In  baths  to  steep  him  ; 
But  being  so  much  too  good  for  earth, 

Heaven  vows  to  keep  him. 

CXXI. 

To  BENJAMIN  RUDYERD.' 

RUDYERD,  as  lesser  dames  to  great  ones  use, 
My  lighter  comes  to  kiss  thy  learned  muse  ; 

7  So,  by  error  to  his  fate 
They  all  consented  ;  &c.] 

Hie  ego  sum  Scorpus^  clamosi  gloria  Circi, 

Plausus,  Roma,  tui,  deliciesque  breves  ; 
Invida  quern  Lachesis  raptum  trieteride  nona, 

Dum  numerat  palmas,  credidit  esse  senem. 

Mart.  lib.  x.  epig.  53. 

"  Lachesis  (Dr.  Jortin  observes)  did  not  take  away  Scorpus 
out  of  eMfj/,  but  by  mistake.  She  concluded  that  one  who  had 
gained  so  many  prizes  at  the  chariot-races  was  an  old  man,  and 
in  consequence  of  this  error,  took  him  in  the  flower  of  youth. 
1  fancy,  therefore,  that  Martial  wrote,  . 

"  Inscia  quern  Lachesis^  &c.     Tracts,  vol.  ii.  p.  273. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Jonsou  read  Inscia  ;  and  it  seems 
highly  probable  that  Jortin  was  led  to  the  emendation  by  this 
epitaph,  which  was  always  well  known: 

*  Sir  Benjamin  Rudyerd  (for  subsequently  to  the  writing  of 
this  epigram,  he  received  the  honour  of  knighthood)  was,  as 
Granger  says,  "  an  accomplished  gentleman,  and  an  elegant 
scholar."  It  is  no  small  proof  of  his  worth,  that  he  lived  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  the  earl  of  Pembroke,  to  whose  poetical 
trifles  his  own  were  subjoined,  in  a  little  volume  which  came 
out  in  1660. 

In  the  troubles  which  led  to  the  usurpation  of  the  Parliament, 


232  EPIGRAM  S. 

Whose  better  studies  while  she  emulates, 

She  learns  to  know  long  difference  of  their  states. 

Yet  is  the  office  nor  to  he  despised, 

If  only  love  should-make  the  action  prized  ; 

Nor  he  for  friendship  can  he  thought  unfit, 

That  strives  his  manners  should  precede  his  wit. 

CXXII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

If  I  would  wish  for  truth,  and  not  for  show, 

The  aged  Saturn's  age  and  rites  to  know; 

If  I  would  strive  to  bring  back  times,  and  try 

The  world's  pure  gold,  and  wise  simplicity ; 

If  I  would  virtue  set  as  she  was  young, 

And  hear  her  speak  with  one,  and  her  first  tongue ; 

If  holiest  friendship,  naked  to  the  touch, 

I  would  restore,  and  keep  it  ever  such ; 

I  need  no  other  arts,  but  study  thee : 

Who  prov'st  all  these  were,  and  again  may  &e. 

CXXIII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Writing  thyself,  or  judging  others  writ, 
I  know  not  which  thou'st  most,  candor,  or  wit : 
But  both  thou  hast  so,  as  who  affects  the  state 
Of  the  best  writer  and  judge,  should  emulate. 

sir  Benjamin  took  an  active  part,  and  spoke  often  on  the  side 
of  moderation  and  justice,  particularly  on  the  question  of  ex- 
eluding  the  bishops  from  the  Upper  House.  He  was  the  last 
person  who  held  the  office  of"  Surveyor  of  the  Court  of  Wards 
and  Liveries,"  and,  when  that  court  was  abolished  in  J6'46, 
received  a  grant  of  land  and  money  as  a  compensation  for  his 
place.  He  died  in  1658,  and,  as  may  be  Conjectured  from  his 
epitaph,  which  he  wrote  himseli,  in  the  practice  of  that  piety 
and  virtue  which  had  formed  the  consolation  of  his  life.  There 
is  a  beautiful  and  touching  simplicity  in  the  secdnd  of  these 
epigrams,  which  cannot  be  too  highly  praised. 


EPIGRAMS.  233 

CXXTV. 

EPITAPH  ON  ELIZABETH,  L.  II.9 

Would'st  thou  hear  what  man  can  say 
In  a  little  ?  reader,  stay. 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie 
As  much  beauty  as  could  die  : 
Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 
To  more  virtue  than  doth  live. 

If  at  all  she  had  a  fault, 
Leave  it  huried  in  this  vault. 
One  name  was  ELIZABETH, 
The  other  let  it  sleep  with  death  : 
Fitter,  where  it  died,  to  tell, 
Than  that  it  lived  at  all.     Farewell  ! 

9  Elizabeth,  L.  H.]  Of  this  lady  I  can  say  nothing.  If 
Jonson  desired  to  keep  her  name  secret,  he  has  apparently 
succeeded  ;  and  yet  he  could  scarcely  mean  to  do  this,  as  he  has 
involved  it,  in  some  measure,  with  her  history,  in  the  last  cou- 
plet. A  luckier  guesser,  or  a  better  historian,  than  I  pretend 
to  be,  may  one  day  hit  upon  it.  But  what  is  the  import  of  this 
nameless  tribute  to  beauty  and  virtue  ?  "  To  be  read  by  bare 
inscriptions,  (says  sir  Thomas  Brown,)  to  hope  for  eternity  by 
aenigmatical  epithets,  or  initial  letters,  to  be  studied  by  anti- 
quaries who  we  were,  and  have  new  names  given  us  like  some 
of  the  mummies,  are  cold  consolations  to  the  student  of  perpe- 
tuity, even  by  everlasting  languages,"  or,  as  in  the  case  before 
us,  by  everlasting  verse. 

Addison,  after  drawing  a  beautiful  picture  of  good  humour, 
innocence,  and  piety,  in  the  person  of  Sophronia,  adds  that  he 
"  cannot  conclude  his  essay  better  than  by  a  short  epitaph 
written  by  Ben  Jonson,  with  a  spirit  which  nothing  could  in- 
spire but  such  an  object  as  he  had  been  describing. 

"  Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie 
As  much  beauty  as  could  die : 
Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 
To  more  virtue  than  doth  live."      Spec.  No.  xxxiii. 

I  must  observe  here  that,  in  the  Spectator  this  passage  is  very 


234  EPIGRAMS. 

CXXV. 

To  SIR  WILLIAM  UVEDALE. 

UVEDALE,  thou  piece  of  the  first  times,  a  man 
Made  for  what  nature  could,  or  virtue  can ; 
Both  whose  dimensions  lost,  the  world  might  find 
Restored  in  thy  body,  and  thy  mind  ! 
Who  sees  a  soul  in  such  a  body  set, 
Might  love  the  treasure  for  the  cabinet. 
But  I,  no  child,  no  fool,  respect  the  kind, 
The  full,  the  flowing  graces  there  enshrined ; 
Which,  would  the  world  not  miscall  't  flattery,, 
I  could  adore  almost  to  idolatry  ! 

CXXVI. 

To  HIS  LADY, 

THEN  MISTRESS  GARY.* 

Retired,  with  purpose  your  fair  worth  to  praiser 
Mongst  Hampton  shades,  and  Phoebus'  grove  of 

bays, 

I  pluck'd  a  branch  ;  the  jealous  god  did  frown, 
And  bade  me  lay  th'  usurped  laurel  down  : 
Said   I  wrong'd  him,  and,  which  was  more,  his 

love. 

I  auswer'd,  Daphne  now  no  pain  can  prove. 
Phoebus  replied,  Bold  head,  it  is  not  she  : 
GARY  my  love  is,  Daphne  but  my  tree. 

incorrectly  given.     In  a  work  so  universally  read,  the  utmost 
care  should  be  taken  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  the  text. 

*  Mistress  Gary.']  The  usual  term  in  the  poet's  days  for  an 
unmarried  woman,  or  miss  :  Of  her  husband,  sir  William  Uve- 
dale,  knt.  I  can  say  nothing  but  that  he  was  of  Wickham,  in 
the  county  of  Southampton. 


EPIGRAMS.  235 

CXXVII. 

To  ESME  LOUD  AUBIGNY.1 

Is  there  a  hope  that  man  would  thankful  be, 

If  I  should  fail  in  gratitude  to  thee, 

To  whom  I  am  so  bound,  loved  AUBIGNY  ? 

No,  I  do  Therefore  call  posterity 

Into  the  debt :  and  reckon  on  her  head, 

How  full  of  want,  how  swallow'd  up,  how  dead 

I  and  this  muse  had  been,  if  thou  hadst  not 

Lent  timely  succours,  and  new  life  begot: 

So  all  reward  or  name,  that  grows  to  me 

By  her  attempt,  shall  still  be  owing  thee. 

And  than  this  same  I  know  no  abler  way 

To  thank  thy  benefits  :  which  is,  to  pay. 

CXXVIII. 
To  WILLIAM  ROE.* 

ROE,  and  my  joy  to  name,  thou'rt  now  to  go, 
Countries  and  climes,  manners  and  men  to  know, 

1  Esme  lord  Aubigny.']  Brother  to  the  duke  of  Lenox,  whom 
he  succeeded  in  title  and  estate.  He  has  been  already  noticed. 

*  William  jRoe.]  Younger  brother,  or  perhaps  cousin,  of  sir 
Thomas  Roe  (epig.  98.)  This  gentleman  seems  to  have  gone 
abroad  in  a  mercantile  or  diplomatic  capacity ;  but  with  the 
activity  and  energy  inherent  in  this  distinguished  family,  he 
subsequently  entered  on  the  profession  of  arms,  and  probably 
served  under  Gustavus  Adolphus.  A  few  years  of  hardship, 
however,  gave  him  enough  of  campaigning,  and  he  returned 
to  the  pursuits  of  his  youth.  "  William  Roe  (Howell  writes 
to  his  friend  at  Brussels)  is  returned  from  the  wars  ;  but  he  is 
grown  lame  in  one  of  his  arms,  so  he  hath  no  mind  to  bear 
arms  any  more ;  he  confesseth  himself  to  be  an  egregious  fool 
to  leave  his  mercorship  for  a  musket."  Lib.  ii.  lett.  62. 


236  E  P  I  G  R  A  M  S. 

To  extract  and  choose  the  best  of  all  these  known, 
And  those  to  turn  to  blood,  and  make  thine  own. 
May  winds  as  soft  as  breath  of  kissing  friends, 
Attend  thee  hence  ;  and  there  may  all  thy  ends, 
As  the  beginnings  here,  prove  purely  sweet, 
And  perfect  in  a  circle  always  meet ! 
So  when  we,  blest  with  thy  return,  shall  see 
Thyself,  with  thy  first  thoughts  brought  home 

by  thee ; 

We  each  to  other  may  this  voice  inspire ; 
This  is  that  good  ^Eneas,  past  through  fire, 
Through  seas,  storms,  tempests ;  and,  embark'd 

for  hell, 
Came  back  untouch'd.    This  man  hath  travell'd 

well. 

CXXIX. 
To  MIME. 

That  not  a  pair  of  friends  each  other  see, 
But  the  first  question  is,  When  one  saw  thee  ? 
That  there's  no  journey  set  or  thought  upon, 
To  Brentford,  Hackney,  Bow,  but  thou  mak'st 

one  ; 

That  scarce  the  town  designeth  any  feast 
To  which  thou'rt  not  a  week  bespoke  a  guest; 
That  still  thou'rt  made  the  supper's  flag,  the  drum, 
The  very  call,  to  make  all  others  come : 
Think 'st  thou,  MIME,  this  is  great  ?  or  that  they 

strive 

Whose  noise  shall  keep  thy  miming  most  alive, 
Whilst  thou  dost  raise  some  player  from  the  grave, 
Out-dance  the  babion,  or  out- boast  the  brave 

3  Or  out-loast  the  brave."]  i.  e.  the  bravo,  the  ruffian  ;  some 
well  known  bully  of  the  time.  Cokely,  Pod,  and  Gue,  men* 
tioncd  just  below,  were  masters  of  motions,  or  puppet-shows, 


EPIGRAMS.  237 

Or,  mounted  on  a  stool,  thy  face  doth  hit 
On  some  new  gesture,  that's  imputed  wit? 
O,  run  not  proud  of  this.  Yet  take  thy  due. 
Thou  dost  out-zany  Cokely,  Pod  ;  nay,  Gue : 
And  thine  own  Coryat  too  ;  but, — would'st  thou 

see, 
Men  love  thee  not  for  this  ;  they  laugh  at  thee. 

cxxx. 

To  ALPHONSO  FERRABOSCO,  ON  HIS  BOOK." 

To  urge,  my  loved  ALPHONSO,  that  bold  fame 
Of  building  towns,  and  making  wild  beasts  tame, 
Which  music  had  ;  or  speak  her  own  effects, 
That  she  removeth  cares,  sadness  ejects, 
Declineth  anger,  persuades  clemency, 
Doth  sweeten  mirth,  and  heighten  piety, 

and  exhibitors  at  Bartholomew  Fair.  The  strong  sense  and  in- 
dignant satire  of  this  little  poem  might  yet  be  turned  to  account 
if  the  parasite  could  feel  shame,  or  the  table-buffoon  be  awa- 
kened to  a  sense  of  honour  by  the  pity,  scorn,  and  insulting 
applause  with  which  his  degrading  fooleries  are  received. 

4  To  Alphonso  Ferrabosco,  on  his  book.']  This  person,  de- 
scended ot  Italian  parents,  was  born  at  Greenwich  in  Kent :  he 
was  much  admired,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  for  his  excellent 
compositions,  and  fancies,  as  they  were  then  called,  in  music; 
he  was  principally  employed  in  setting  the  songs  to  music  in 
our  poet's  masques.  WHAL. 

Jonson  appears  to  have  had  an  extraordinary  regard  and 
affection  for  this  excellent  composer.  He  delights  to  mention 
him  upon  all  occasions ;  and  in  the  Masque  of  Hymen,  hurried 
away  by  his  feelings,  he  interrupts  the  strain  of  applause  in 
which  he  was  describing  Alphonso's  exertions,  with  a  genuine 
burst  of  tenderness,  "  Virtuous  friend  !  take  well  this  abrupt 
testimony  :  It  cannot  be  flattery  in  me,  who  never  did  it  to 
great  ones ;  and  less  than  love  and  truth  it  is  not  where  it  is 
done  out  ol  knowledge  !" 

The  learned  reader  will  observe  that  Jonson  had  in  view 
Horace's  admirable  description  of  the  office  of  the  ancient 
Chorus,  in  the  opening  of  this  epigram. 


238  EPIGRAMS. 

And  is  to  a  body,  often,  ill  incline  , 
No  less  a  sovereign  cure,  than  to  the  mind  ; 
T'  allege,  that  greatest  men  were  not  asham'd, 
Of  old,  even  by  her  practice  to  be  fam'd  ; 
To  say  indeed,  she  were  the  soul  of  heaven, 
That  the   eighth  sphere,   no  less  than  planets 

seven, 

Moved  by  her  order,  and  the  ninth  more  high, 
Including  all,  were  thence  call'd  harmony  ; 
I  yet  had  utter'd  nothing  on  thy  part, 
When  these  were  but  the  praises  of  the  art : 
But  when  I  have  said,  the  proofs  of  all  these  be 
Shed  in  thy  songs  ;  'tis  true  :  but  short  of  thee. 

CXXXI. 

To  THE  SAME.* 

When  we  do  give,  ALPHONSO,  to  the  light, 
A  work  of  ours,  we  part  with  our  own  right; 
For  then,  all  mouths  will  judge,  and  their  own 

way: 
The  learn'd  have  no  more  privilege  than  the  lay. 

5  To  THE  SAMI.]  The  "  Book"  from  which  the  composer 
probably  expected  a  large  harvest  of  praise  seems  to  have  met 
with  some  ungentle  critic,  and  Jonson  writes  this  sensible  and 
manly  epigram  to  his  friend,  to  qualify  the  excess  of  his  disap- 
pointment and  mortification.  I  know  not  the  person  meant, 
unless  it  be  Morley,  who  is  mentioned  as  dissatisfied  with 
some  of  his  compositions  by  Peacham  : — but  I  will  give  the 
passage  : 

"  Alphonso  Ferrabosco  the  father,  while  he  lived,  for  judg- 
ment and  depth  of  skill,  as  also  his  son  now  living,  was  inferior 
to  none,  What  he  did  was  most  elaborate  and  profound,  and 
pleasing  in  aire  ;  though  master  Thomas  Morley  censureth  him 
otherwise.  That  of  his,  /  saw  my  ladie  weeping,  and  the  Night- 
ingale, upon  which  dittie  master  Bird  and  he  in  a  friendly  emu- 
lation exercised  their  invention,  cannot  be  bettered  for  sweet- 
nesse  of  aire,  or  depth  of  judgment."  Compleat  Gent.  1622. 


EPIGRAMS.  239 

And  though  we  could  all  men,  all  censures  hear, 
We  ought  not  give  them  taste  we  had  an  ear. 
For  if  the  humorous  world  will  talk  at  large, 
They  should  be  fools,  for  me,  at  their  own  charge. 
Say  this  or  that  man  they  to  thee  prefer ; 
Even  those  for  whom  they  do  this,  know  they 

err : 

And  would  (being  ask'd  the  truth)  ashamed  say, 
They  were  not  to  be  nam'd  on  the  same  day. 
Then  stand  unto  thyself,  nor  seek  without 
For  fame,  with  breath  soon  kindled,  soon  blown 

out. 

CXXXII. 

To  MR.  JOSHUA  SILVESTER.' 

If  to  admire  were  to  commend,  my  praise 
Might  then  both  thee,  thy  work  and  merit  raise  : 

6  To  Mr.  Joshua  Silvester.]  His  translation  of  the  French 
poem  of  Du  Eartas  on  the  Creation,  was  esteemed  to  be  well 
done  ;  but  he  had  little  genius  or  invention  of  his  own.  In  a 
censure  of  the  poets,  ascribed  to  Drayton,  we  have  his  character 
given  in  the  following  verses  : 

"  And  Silvester,  who,  from  the  French  more  weak, 
Made  Bartas  of  his  six  days  labour  speak 
In  natural  English  :  who,  had  he  there  stay'd, 
He  had  done  well ;  and  never  had  bewray'd 
His  own  invention  to  have  been  so  poor, 
Who  still  wrote  less,  in  striving  to  write  more."    WHAL. 
This  epigram  was  written  some  years  before  the  folio  1616 
appeared,  being  prefixed  to  the  4to.  edition  of  Silvester's  Du 
Bartas,  which  came  out  in  1605.  Jonson  declares  his  ignorance 
of  French,  so  that  his  praise  must  be  confined  to  the  poetical 
merits  of  the  translator,  who  was  pretty  generally  supposed  to 
have  gone  beyond  his  original.  When  Jonson  became  acquainted 
with  the  French  language,  and  was  able  to   compare  the  two 
works,  he  then  discovered,  as  he  told  Drummond,  that  Silvester 
had  not  been  sufficiently  faithful  :  this  censure,  however,  must 
be  understood  with  a  reference  to  his  own  ideas  of  translation, 


240  EPIGRAMS. 

But  as  it  is,  (the  child  of  ignorance, 
And  utter  stranger  to  all  air  or  France,) 
How  can  I  speak  of  thy  great  pains,  but  err? 
Since  they  can  only  judge,  that  can  confer. 
Behold  !  the  reverend  shade  of  BARTAS  stands 
Before  my  thought,  and,  in  tin  rmhtv  commands 
That  to  the  world  I  publish  for  him,  this; 
Bartas  d  >th  wish  tin  English  now  were  his. 
So  wci]  in  that  are  his  inventions  wrought, 
As  his  will  now  be  the  translation  thought, 
Thine  the  original  ;  and  France  shall  boast, 
No  more  those  maiden  glories  she  hath  lost, 

CXXXIII. 

ON  THE  FAMOUS  VOYAGE.7 

No  more  let  Greece  her  bolder  fables  tell 
Of  Hercules,  or  Theseus  going  to  hell, 

and  we  know  what  they  were,  from  the  majority  of  his  pro. 
fessed  versions. 

Ritson  appears  to  hare  strangely  misunderstood  the  passage 
in  Drummond.  He  says,  it  was  Ben  Jonson's  opinion,  "  that 
Silvester's  translation  of  Du  Bartas  was  not  wcli  done,  and  that 
he  wrote  his  verses  before  he  understood  to  confer."  Kibliogra- 
phica  Poetica,  p.  356.  But  the  HE  refers  to  Jon'son  not  to  Sil- 
vester, whose  knowledge  of  French  was  never  questioned. 

The  translation  is  now  little  known  :  an  unlucky  quotation 
of  Dry  den, 

Nor,  with  Du  Bartas,  "  bridle  up  the  floods" 
And  "  periwig  with  wool  the  baldpate  woods," 
serves  as  an  apology  for  consigning  it  lo  ridicule  anil  neglect ; 
Silvester  wanted   taste  rather  than   poetry,  and    he  has  many 
shining  passages.  Goffe,  who  had  a  marvellous  love  for  uncouth 
and  extravagant  phraseology,  has  imitated  the  line  above,  with 
noble  emulation,  in  his  Courageous  Turke: 

"  Who  set  the  world  on  flame  ?  How  now,  ye  heavens, 
Grow  you  so  proud  as  to  put  on  curl'd  lockes, 
And  clothe  yourselves  in  periwigs  of  fire  1" 

7  Of  this  "  Voyage,"  undertaken,  as  I  have  already  observed, 


EPIGRAMS.  241 

Orpheus,  Ulysses ;  or  the  Latin  muse, 
With  tales  of  Troy's  just  knight,  our  faiths  abuse. 
We  have  a  SHELTON,  and  a  HEYDEN  got,8 
Had  power  to  act,  what  they  to  feign  had  not. 
All  that  they  boast  of  Styx,  of  Acheron, 
Cocytus,  Phlegethon,  ours  have  proved  in  one ; 
The  filth,  stench,  noise  :  save  only  what  was  there 
Subtly  distinguished,  was  confused  here. 
Their  wherry  had  no  sail  too ;  ours  had  ne'er  one : 
And  in  it,  two  more  horrid  knaves  than  Charon. 
Arses  were  heard  to  croak  instead  of  frogs  ; 
And  for  one  Cerberus,  the  whole  coast  was  dogs. 
Furies  there  wanted  not ;  each  scold  was  ten. 
And  for  the  cries  of  ghosts,  women  and  men, 
Laden  with  plague-sores,   and  their  sins,  were 

heard, 

Lash'd  by  their  consciences,  to  die  afTeard. 
Then  let  the  former  age  with  this  content  her, 
She  brought  the  poets  forth,  but  ours  th'  ad* 

venter. 

THE  VOYAGE  ITSELF. 

I  sing  the  brave  adventure  of  two  wights, 
And  pity  'tis,  I  cannot  call  them  knights  : 

in  a  mad  frolic,  and  celebrated  in  no  very  sane  one,  I  shall  only 
say  that  more  humour  and  poetry  are  wasted  on  it  than  it 
deserves.  As  a  picture  of  a  populous  part  of  London,  it  is  not 
without  some  interest,  and  might  admit  of  a  few  remarks  ;  but 
J  dislike  she  subject,  and  shall  therefore  leave  the  reader,  who 
will  not  follow  my  example,  and  pass  lightly  over  it,  to  the 
annotations  of  Whalley. 

8  We  have  a  Shelton  and  a  Heyden  got.~]  The  names  of  the 
persons  who  embarked  in  this  enterprize.  The  first,  I  suppose, 
is  sir  Ralph  Shelton,  to  whom  the  119th  epigram  is  addressed. 
The  latter  is  probably  sir  Christopher  Heyden,  to  whom  Davis, 
in  his  Scourge  of  Folly,  p.  191,  addresses  an  epigram.  WHAL. 

Yet  Jonson  says,  in  the  opening  of  the  Voyage,  that  the 
"  latter"  was  a  squire. 

VOL.  VIII.  R 


EPIGRAMS. 

One  was  ;  and  he  for  brawn  and  brain  right  able 
To  have  been  styled  of  king  Arthur's  table. 
The  other  was  a  squire,  of  fair  degree  ; 
But,  in  the  action,  greater  man  than  he, 
Who  gave,  to  take  at  his  return  from  hell, 
His  three  for  one.  Now,  lordlings,  listen  well. 

It  was  the  day,  what  time  the  powerful  moon' 
Makes  the  poor  Bankside  creature  wet  it's  shoon, 
In  its  own  hall ;  when  these,  (in  worthy  scorn 
Of  those,  that  put  out  monies,  on  return 
From  Venice,  Paris,  or  some  inland  passage 
Of  six  times  to  and  fro,  without  embassage, 
Or  him  that  backward  went  to  Berwick,  or  which 
Did  dance  the  famous  morris  unto  Norwich) 
At  Bread-street's  Mermaid    having  dined,  and 

merry, 

Proposed  to  go  to  Holborn  in  a  wherry  : 
A  harder  task,  than  either  his  to  Bristo', 
Or  his  to  Antwerp.  Therefore,  once  more,  list  ho'. 

A  dock  there  is,  that  called  is  Avernus, 
Of  some.  Bridewell,  and  may,  in  time  concern  us 
All,  that  are  readers  :  but,  methinks,  'tis  odd, 
That  all  this  while  I  have  forgot  some  god, 
Or  goddess  to  invoke,  to  stuff  my  verse ; 
And  with  both  bombast  style  and  phrase,  rehearse 
The  many  perils  of  this  port,  and  how 
Sans  help  of  Sibyl,  or  a  golden  bough, 
Or  magic  sacrifice,  they  past  along  ! — 
Alcides,  be  thou  succouring  to  my  song. 
Thou  hast  seen  hell,  some  say,  and  know'st  all 

nooks  there, 
Canst  tell  me  best,  how  ever  Fury  looks  there, 

9  Jt  was  the  day,  what  time  the  powerful  moon.]  i.  e.  A  spring 
tide,  when  the  river  frequently  overflows  its  banks.  WHAL. 

The  persons  allnded  to  in  the  next  lines  are  William  Kempe, 
Taylor  the  water-poet,  ajid  Coryat. 


EPIGRAMS.  243 

And  art  a  god,  if  fame  thee  not  abuses, 
Always  at  hand,  to  aid  the  merry  muses. 
Great  club-fist,  though  thy  back  and  bones  be  sore 
Still,  with  thy  former  labours ;  yet,  once  more, 
Act  a  brave  work,  call  it  thy  last  adventry : 
But  hold  my  torch,  while  I  describe  the  entry 
To  this  dire  passage.   Say,  thou  stop  thy  nose; 
'Tis  but  light  pains  :  indeed,  this  dock's  no  rose. 

In  the  first  jaws  appear'd  that  ugly  monster, 
Ycleped  mud,  which,  when  their  oars  did  once 

stir, 

Belch'd  forth  an  air  as  hot,  as  at  the  muster 
Of  all  your  night-tubs,  when  the  carts  do  cluster, 
Who  shall  discharge  first  his  merd-urinous  load  : 
Thorough  her  womb  they  make  their  famous  road, 
Between  two  walls  ;  where,  on  one  side,  to  scare 

men, 

Were  seen  your  ugly  centaurs,  ye  call  carmen, 
Gorgonian  scolds,  and  Harpies  :  on  the  other 
Hung  stench,  diseases,  and  old  filth,  their  mother, 
With  famine,  wants,  and  sorrows  many  a  dozen, 
The  least  of  which  was  to  the  plague  a  cousin. 
But  they  unfrighted  pass,  though  many  a  privy 
Spake  to  them  louder,  than  the  ox  in  Livy;* 
And  many  a  sink  pour'd  out  her  rage  anenst  'em , 
But  still  their  valour  and  their  virtue  fenc'd  'em, 
And  on  they  went,  like  Castor  brave  and  Pollux, 
Ploughing  the  main.    When,  see  (the  worst  of 

all  lucks) 

1  Than  the  ox  in  Livy.}  Jam  alia  vulgata  miracula  erant^ 
hastam  Martis  Prasneste  &ud  sponte  promotam  :  borem  in  Sicilia 
locututn,  Liv.  /.  24.  cap.  10.  Though  I  believe  the  poet  here 
refers  to  the  following  passage  of  the  same  author;  Intercast era 
prodigia,  qnx  plurima  fuisse  traduntur^  bovemCn.  Domitii  consults 
locutum,  Roma,  cave  tibi,  refertur.  Epit.  lib.  35.  WHAI,. 


» 


14  EPIGRAMS. 

They  met  the  second  prodigy,  would  fear  a 
Man,  that  had  never  heard  of  a  Chimera. 
One  said,  'twas  hold  Briareus,  or  the  beadle, 
Who  hath  the    hundred  hands   when   he   cloth 

meddle, 

The  other  thought  it  Hydra,  or  the  rock 
Made  of  the  trull  that  cut  her  father's  lock  : ' 
But  coming  near,  they  found  it  but  a  li'ter, 
So  huge,  it  seem'd  they  could  by  no  means  quite 

her. 
Back,  cried  their  brace  of  Charons  :  they  cried, 

No, 

No  going  back ;  on  still,  you  rogues,  and  row. 
How  hight  the  place  ?   A  voice  was  heard,  Co- 

cytus. 

Row  close  then,  slaves.  Alas!  they  will  beshite  us. 
No  matter,  stinkards,  row.  What  croakingsound 
Is  this  we  hear?  of  frogs?  No,  guts  wind-bound, 
Over  your  heads :  well,  row.  At  this  a  loud 
Crack  did  report  itself,  as  if  a  cloud 
Had  burst  with  storm,  and  down  fell,  ab  excelsis, 
Poor  Mercury,  crying  out  on  Paracelsus, 
And  all  his  followers,  that  had  so  abused  him  ; 
And  in  so  shitten  sort,  so  long  had  used  him : 
For  (where  he  was  the  god  of  eloquence, 
And  subtilty  of  metals)  they  dispense 
His  spirits  now  in  pills,  and  eke  in  potions, 
Suppositories,  cataplasms,  and  lotions. — 
But  many  moons  there  shall  not  wane,  quoth  he 
In  the  mean  time,  let  them  imprison  me, 
But  I  will  speak,  and  know  I  shall  be  heard, 
Touching  this  cause,  where  they  will  be  affeard 


Or  the  rock 


Made  of  the  trull,  that  cut  lier  father's  lock.]  He  means 
Scylla,  who  cut  off  the  hair  of  her  father  Nisus  :  but  Ovid  tells 
us  she  was  changed  into  a  bird  called  Ciris.  The  old  poets  seem 
to  have  confounded  two  different  stories  together.  WHAL. 


EPIGRAMS. 

To  answer  me:  and  sure,  it  was  the  intent 
Of  the  grave  fart,  late  let  in  parliament,* 
Had  it  been  seconded,  and  not  in  fume 
Vanish'd  away :  as  you  must  all  presume 
Their  Mercury  did  now.  By  this,  the  stem 
Of  the  hulk  touch'd,  and,  as  by  Polypheme 
The  sly  Ulysses  stole  in  a  sheep-skin, 
The  well-greased  wherry  now  had  got  between, 
And  bade  her  farewell  sough  unto  the  lurden: 
Never  did  bottom  more  betray  her  burden; 
The  meat-boat  of  bear's-college,  Paris-garden, 
Stunk  not^so  ill;    nor,  when  she   kiss'd,  Kate 

Arden. 

Yet  one  day  in  the  year,  for  sweet  'tis  voist, 
And  that  is  when  it  is  the  Lord  Mayor's  foist. 

By  this  time  had  they  reach'd  the  Stygian  pool, 
By  which  the  masters  swear,  when  on  the  stool 
Of  worship,  they  their  nodding  chins  do  hit 
Against  their  breasts.  Here,  several  ghosts  did  flit 
About  the  shore,  of  farts  but  late  departed, 
White,  black,  blue,  green,  and  in  more  forms 

out-started, 

Than  all  those  atomi  ridiculous 
Whereof  old  Democrite,  and  Hill  Nicholas,4 
One  said,  the  other  swore,  the  world  consists. 
These  be  the  cause  of  those  thick  frequent  mists 

3  — And  sure  it  was  th'  intent 

Of  the  grave  fart,  late  let  in  Parliament.']  An  accident  of 
this  kind  happened  about  this  time,  which,  it  seems,  was  the 
occasion  of  much  mirth  among  the  wits.  See  the  Alchemist. 

WHAL. 

4  Whereof  old  Democrite,  and  Hill  Nicholas.]  "  Nicholas  Hill 
was  a  fellow  of  St.  John's  college  in  Oxford:    he  adopted  the 
notions  of  Democritui  about  atoms,  and  was  a  great  patron  of 
the  Corpuscular  philosophy.     The  book  he  published  on  this 
subject  is  entituled  Philosophia  Epicurea,DemocrilanatTheophras« 
tica,  proposita  simplicitcr,  non  edocta.     Par.  1601."    A.  WOOD. 


246  EPIGRAMS. 

Arising  in  that  place,  through  which,  who  goes, 
Must  try  the  unused  valour  of  a  nose  : 
And  thnt  ours  did    For,  yet,  no  nare  was  tainted, 
Nor  thumb,  nor  finger  to  the  stop  acquainted, 
But  open,  and  unarm'd,  encounter'd  all : 
Whether  it  languishing  stuck  upon  the  wall, 
Or  were  precipitated  down  the  jakes, 
And  after,  swam  abroad  in  ample  flakes, 
Or  that  it  lay  heap'd  like  an  usurer's  mass, 
All  was  to  them  the  same,  they  were  to  pass, 
And  so  they  did,  from  Styx  to  Acheron, 
Thi  ever-boiling  flood  ;  whose  banks  upon 
Your  Fleet-lane  Furies,  and  hot  cooks  do  dwell, 
That  with  still-scalding  steams,  make  the  place 

hell. 

The  sinks  ran  grease,  and  hair  of  meazled  hogs, 
The  heads,  houghs,  entrails,  and  the  hides  of  dogs : 
For,  to  say  truth,  what  scullion  is  so  nasty, 
To  put  the  skins  and  offal  in  a  pasty  ? 
Cats  there  lay  divers  had  been  flea'd  and  roasted, 
And  after  mouldy  grown,  again  were  toasted, 
Then  selling  not,  a  dish  was  ta'en  to  mince  'em, 
But  still,  it  seem'd,  therankness  did  convince'em. 
For,  here  they  were  thrown  in  with  th'  melted 

pewter, 
Yet  drown'd  they  not :    they  had  five  lives  in 

future. 

But  'mongst  these  Tiberts,1  who  do  you  think 

there  was  ? 

Old  Banks  the  jugler,  our  Pythagoras, 
Grave  tutor  to  the  learned  horse  ;  both  which, 
Being,  beyond  sea,  burne^d  for  one  witch, 

5  But  'mongst  these  Tiberts.]  i.  e.  cats.  The  name  given  to 
them  in  the  old  story  book  of  Reynard  the  Fox.  Banks,  "who 
follows  in  the  next  line,  was  a  fellow  who  shewed  a  horse  about 
that  time,  famous  for  his  tricks.  WHAL. 


EPIGRAMS. 

Their  spirits  transmigrated  to  a  cat : 
And  now,  above  the  pool,  a  face  right  fat, 
With  great  gray  eyes,  it  lifted  up,  and  mew'd  ; 
Thrice  did  it  spit ;  thrice  dived:  at  last  it  view'd 
Our  brave  heroes  with  a  milder  glare, 
And  in  a  piteous  tune,  began.  How  dare 
Your  dainty  nostrils,  in  so  hot  a  season, 
When  every  clerk  eats  artichokes  and  peason, 
Laxative  lettuce,  and  such  windy  meat, 
Tempt  such  a  passage?   When  each  privy's  seat 
Is  fill'd  with  buttock,  and  the  walls  do  sweat 
Urine  and  plaisters,  when  the  noise  doth  beat 
Upon  your  ears,  of  discords  so  unsweet, 
And  outcries  of  the  damned  in  the  Fleet  ? 
Cannot  the  Plague-bill  keep  you  back,  nor  bells 
Of  loud  Sepulchre's,  with  their  hourly  knells, 
But  you  will  visit  grisly  Pluto's  hall  ? 
Behold  where  Cerberus,  rear'd  on  the  wall 
Of  Holborn-height  (three  Serjeants'  heads)  looks 

o'er, 

And  stays  but  till  you  come  unto  the  door ! 
Tempt  not  his  fury,  Pluto  is  away : 
And  madam  Caesar,  great  Proserpina, 
Is  now  from  home  ;  you  lose  your  labours  quite, 
Were  you  Jove's  sons,  or  had  Alcides'  might. 
They  cry'd   out,  Puss.    He  told   them  he  was 

Banks, 

That  had  so  often  shew'd  them  merry  pranks. 
They  laugh'd,  at  his  laugh-worthy  fate ;  and  past 
The  triple-head  without  a  sop.  At  last, 
Calling  for  Rhadamanthus,  that  dwelt  by, 
A  soap-boiler  ;  and  ^Eacus  him  nigh, 
Who  kept  an  ale-house ;  with  my  little  Minos, 
An  ancient  purblind  fletcher,  with  a  high  nose; 
They  took  them  all  to  witness  of  their  action: 
And  so  went  bravely  back  without  protraction. 


248  EPIGRAMS. 

In  memory  of  which  most  liquid  deed, 
The  city  since  hath  raised  a  pyramid ; 
And  I  could  wish  for  their  eternized  sakes, 
My  Muse  had  plough'd  with  his,  that  sung  A- J  AX." 

*  My  Muse  had  plough'd  -with  his,  that  sung  A-jax."]  Sir  John 
Harington,  author  of  the  treatise  called,  Misacmos,  or  the 
Metamorphosis  of  A-jax.  WHAL. 


THE  END  OF  THE  EPIGRAMS, 


THE    FOREST. 


THE  FOREST.]  From  the  folio,  1616.  Between  this  and  the 
poem  \vhich  now  concludes  the  Epigrams,  Whalley  foisted 
in  several  compositions  under  that  title,  which  appeared  long 
after  the  publication  of  the  volume.  This  was  injudiciously  done, 
for  as  the  date  of  the  folio  was  well  known,  it  tended  to  con- 
found the  idea  of  time,  and  to  mislead  the  general  reader. 
Several  of  the  pieces  given  by  Whalley  under  the  head  of 
Epigrams,  closed  by  the  author  in  1616,  were  written  by  him  as 
late  as  1630. 


THE    FOREST. 


i. 

WHY  I  WRITE  NOT  OF  LOVE. 

SOME  act  of  LOVE'S  bound  to  rehearse, 
I  thought  to  bind  him  in  my  verse  : 
Which  when  he  felt,  Away,  quoth  he, 
Can  poets  hope  to  fetter  me? 
It  is  enough,  they  once  did  get 
Mars  and  my  mother,  in  their  net : 
I  wear  not  these  my  wings  in  vain. 
With  which  he  fled  me ;  and  again, 
Into  my  rhymes  could  ne'er  be  got 
By  any  art:  then  wonder  not, 
That  since,  my  numbers  are  so  cold, 
When  Love  is  fled,  and  I  grow  old. 

II. 

To  PENSHURST.* 

Thou  art  not,  PENSHURST,  built  to  envious  show 
Of  touch  or  marble  ;  *  nor  canst  boast  a  row 

1  To  Penshurst.]  This  place  is  pleasantly  situated  near  the 
banks  of  the  Medway  ;  it  was  the  ancient  seat  of  sir  Stephen 
Pencestre,  warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  and  Constable  of 
Dorer  Castle,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  and  was  granted  by 
Edward  VI.  to  sir  William  Sidney  and  his  heirs  : — having  been 
forfeited  to  the  crown  by  the  rebellion  of  sir  R.  Fane,  its  last 
proprietor. 

*  T/iou  art  nott  Penshurst^  built  to  envious  show 

Of  touch  or  marble.]    The  common  kind  of  black  marble 


252  THE   FOREST. 

» 

Of  polish'd  pillars,  or  a  roof  of  gold : 
Thou  hast  no  lantern,  whereof  tales  are  told  ; 
Or  stair,  or  courts  ;  but  stand'st  an  ancient  pile, 
And  these  grudg'd  at,  art  reverenced  the  while. 
Thou  joy'st  in  better  marks,  of  soil,  of  air, 
Of  wood,  of  water  ;  therein  thou  art  fair. 
Thou  hast  thy  walks  for  health,  as  well  as  sport : 
Thy  mount,  to  which  thy  Dryads  do  resort, 
Where  Pan  and  Bacchus  their  high  feasts  have 

made, 

Beneath  the  broad  beech,  and  the  chestnut  shade ; 
That  taller  tree,  which  of  a  nut  was  set, 
At  his  great  birth,  where  all  the  Muses  met.1 

frequently  made  use  of  in  funeral  monuments,  was  then  called 
by  this  name ;  so  Weaver,  giving  the  account  of  a  tomb  at 
Hampstead : 

"  Under  a  fair  monument  of  marble  and  touchj*  &c. 

From  its  solidity  and  firmness  it  was  used  also  as  the  test  of 
gold  :  in  this  sense  it  occurs  in  Shakspeare  : 

"  Ah !  Buckingham,  now  do  I  ply  the  touch." 

Richard  III.  Act.  IV.  sc.  2. 

And  from  this  use  of  it,  the  name  itself  was  taken.  It  seems  to 
be  the  same  with  that  anciently  called  basalt.  WHAL. 

3  At  his  great  birth,  where  all  the  Muses  met.']  i.  e.  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's,  who  was  born  at  Penshurst  in  Kent.  WHAL. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  born  29th  November,  1554.  "  That 
taller  tree,"  produced  from  an  acorn,  planted  on  his  birth-day, 
and  which  has  been  the  theme  of  many  poets,  is  no  longer 
standing.  It  is  said  to  have  been  felled  by  mistake  in  1768  ;  a 
wretched  apology,  if  true,  and,  in  a  case  of  such  notoriety, 
scarcely  possible.  Waller,  in  one  of  his  poems,  written  at 
Penshurst  where  he  amused  himself  with  falling  in  love,  has  an 
allusion  to  this  oak  : 

*«  Go,  boy,  and  carve  this  passion  on  the  bark 
Of  yonder  tree,  which  stands  the  sacred  mark 
Of  noble  Sidney's  birth,"  &c. 

On  which  the  commentator  on  his  poems  observes  that  though 
no  tradition  of  the  circumstance  remained  in  the  family,  yet  the 
observation  of  Cicero  on  the  Marian  oak  might  not  unaptly  be 


THE   FOREST.  253 

There,  in  the  writhed  bark,  are  cut  the  names 
Of  many  a  sylvan,  taken  with  his  flames; 
And  thence  the  ruddy  satyrs  oft  provoke 
The  lighter  fauns,  to  reach  thy  lady's  oak.4 
Thy  copse  too,  named  of  Gamage,thou  hast  there,1 
That  never  fails  to  serve  thee  season'd  deer, 
When  thou  wouldst  feast,  or  exercise  thy  friends. 
The  lower  land,  that  to  the  river  bends, 
Thy  sheep,  thy  bullocks,  kine,  and  calves  do  feed ; 
The  middle  grounds  thy  mares  and  horses  breed. 
Each  bank  doth  yield  thee  conies  ;  and  the  tops 
Fertile  of  wood,  Ashore  and  Sydneys  copp's, 
To  crown  thy  open  table,  doth  provide 
The  purpled  pheasant,  with  the  speckled  side: 
The  painted  partridge  lies  in  ev'ry  field, 
And  for  thy  mess  is  willing  to  be  kill'd. 

applied  to  it.  "  Manet  vero  et  semper  manelit.  Sata  est  enim 
ingenio :  Nullius  autem  agricolce  cultu  stirps  tarn  diuturna  qvam 
poet(E  versu  seminari  potest."  De  leg.  lib.  1. 

About  a  century  after  the  date  of  Waller's  verses,  this  oak 
was  still  standing,  and  the  ingenious  Mr.  F.  Coventry  wrote 
the  following  lines  under  its  shade : 

"  Stranger  kneel  here  !  to  age  due  homage  pay 
When  great  Eliza  held  Britannia's  sway 
My  growth  began, — the  same  illustrious  morn, 
Joy  to  the  hour !  saw  gallant  Sidney  born. 
He  perish'd  early  ;  I  just  stay  behind 
An  hundred  years  ;  and  lo  !  my  clefted  rind, 
My  wither'd  boughs  foretell  destruction  nigh  ; 
We  all  are  mortal ;  oaks  and  heroes  die." 

4  thy  lady's  oak."]    There  Is  an  old  tradition  that  a 

lady  Leicester  (the  wife  undoubtedly  of  sir  Robert  Sidney)  was 
taken  in  travail  under  an   oak  in  Penshurst  park,  which  was 
afterwards  called  my  Lady^s  oak. 

5  Thy  copse  too  named  of  Gamage.]    "  This  coppice  is  now 
called  lady  Gamage's  bower ;  it  being  said  that  Barbara  Gamage, 
countess  of  Leicester,  used  to  take  great  delight  in  feeding  the 
deer  therein  from  her  own  hands."     Dug.  Baron.     This  lady 
was  daughter  and  heiress  of  John  Gamage  of  Coytie,  in  Gla- 
morganshire, and  the  first  wife  of  sir  Robert. 


254.  THE   FOREST. 

And  if  the  high-swoln  Medway  fail  thy  dish, 

Thou  hast  thy  ponds,  that  pay  thee  tribute  fish, 

Fat  aged  carps  that  run  into  thy  net, 

And  pikes,  now  weary  their  own  kind  to  eat, 

As  loth  the  second  draught  or  cast  to  stay, 

Officiously  at  first  themselves  betray. 

Bright  eels  that  emulate  them,  and  leap  on  land, 

Before  the  fisher,  or  into  his  hand. 

Then  hath  thy  orchard  fruit,  thy  garden  flowers, 

Fresh  as  the  air,  and  new  as  are  the  hours. 

The  early  cherry,  with  the  later  plum, 

Fig,  grape,  and  quince,  eachinhis  time  doth  come: 

The  blushing  apricot,  and  woolly  peach 

Hang  on  thy  walls,  that  every  child  may  reach. 

And  though  thy  walls  be  of  the  country  stone, 

They're  rear'd  with  no  man'sruin,  noman'sgroan  ; 

There's  none,  that  dwell  about  them,  wish  them 

down  ; 

But  all  come  in,  the  farmer  and  the  clown ; 
And  no  one  empty-handed,  to  salute 
Thy  lord  and  lady,  though  they  have  no  suit. 
Some  bring  a  capon,  some  a  rural  cake, 
Some  nuts,  some  apples;    some  that  think  they 

make 

The  better  cheeses,  bring  them  ;  or  else  send 
By    their   ripe   daughters,    whom    they    would 

commend 

This  way  to  husbands  ;    and  whose  baskets  bear 
An  emblem  of  themselves  in  plum,  or  pear. 
But  what  can  this  (more  than  express  their  love) 
Add  to  thy  free  provisions,  far  above 
The  need  of  such?  whose  liberal  board  doth  flow, 
With  all  that  hospitality  doth  know  ! 
Where  comes  no  guest,  but  is  allow'd  to  eat,6 
Without  his  fear,  and  of  thy  lord's  own  meat : 

0  Where  conies  no  guest,  but  is  allow'd  to  eat, 

Without  his  f ear )  and  of  thy  lord's  own  meat)  Sec."]  This,  and 


THE   FOREST.  255 

Where  the  same  beer  and  bread,  and  self-same 

wine, 

That  is  his  lordship's,  shall  be  also  mine. 
And  I  not  fain  to  sit  (as  some  this  day, 
At  great  men's  tables)  and  yet  dine  away. 
Here  no  man  tells  my  cups  ;  nor  standing  by, 
A  waiter,  doth  my  gluttony  envy  : 
But  gives  me  what  I  call,  and  lets  me  eat, 
He  knows,  below,  he  shall  find  plenty  of  meat; 
Thy  tables  hoard  not  up  for  the  next  day, 
Nor,  when  [  take  my  lodging,  need  I  pray 
For  fire,  or  lights,  or  livery  ;  all  is  there  ; 
As  if  thou  then  wert  mine,  or  I  reign'd  here : 
There's  nothing  I  can  wish,  for  which  I  stay. 
That  found  king  JAMES,  when  hunting  late,  this 

way, 

what  follows,  may  appear  a  strange  topic  for  praise  to  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  the  practice  of  those  times.  But,  in 
fact,  the  liberal  mode  of  hospitality  here  recorded,  was  almost 
peculiar  to  this  noble  person.  The  great,  indeed,  dined  at  long 
tables  (they  had  no  other  in  their  vast  halls)  and  permitted 
many  guests  to  sit  down  with  them  ;  bat  the  gradations  of  rank 
and  fortune  were  rigidly  maintained,  and  the  dishes  grew  visibly 
coarser  as  they  receded  from  the  head  of  the  table.  No  reader 
of  our  old  poets  can  be  ignorant  of  the  phrase,  below  the  salt ; 
but  it  may  not  be  generally  known  that  in  some  countries  the 
custom  yet  prevails.  It  is  the  natural  consequence  of  feudal 
manners ;  and  the  scene  between  the  patron  and  the  client 
which' excited  the  caustic  indignation  of  Juvenal,  is  daily  re- 
newed in  many  parts  of  Russia,  and  in  the  whole  of  Poland.  la 
England  the  system  was  breaking  up  when  Jonson  wrote,  and 
he  notices  it  witli  his  usual  good  sense.  It  is  to  the  honour  of 
Penshurst  that  the  observation  was  made  there. 

Herrick,  who  abounds  in  imitations  of  Jonson,  whom  he  loved 
and  admired,  has  copied  many  passages  of  this  and  the  following 
poem,  in  his  Panegyrick  to  sir  L.  Ptmberton.  Here  is  one  ot 
them  : 

61  No,  no,  thy  bread,  thy  wine,  thy  jocund  beere 

Is  not  reserv'd  for  Trebius  here, 
But  all,  who  at  thy  table  seated  are, 

Find  equal  freedom,  equal  fare,"  &c. 


256*  THE    FOREST. 

With  his  brave  son,  the  prince ;  they  saw  thy  fires 
Shine  bright  on  every  hearth,  as  the  desires 
Of  thy  Penates  had  been  set  on  flame, 
To  entertain  them  ;  or  the  country  came, 
With  all  their  zeal,  to  warm  their  welcome  here. 
What  (great,  1  will  not  say,  but)  sudden  chear 
Didst  thou  then  make  'em  !  and  what  praise  was 

heap'd 

On  thy  good  lady,  then  !   who  therein  reap'd 
The  just  reward  of  her  high  huswifry ; 
To  have  her  linen,  plate,  and  all  things  nigh, 
When  she  was  far ;  and  not  a  room,  but  drest, 
As  if  it  had  expected  such  a  guest! 
These,  Penshurst,  are  thy  praise,  and  yet  not  all. 
Thy  lady's  noble,  fruitful,  chaste  withal. 
His  children  thy  great  lord  may  call  his  own;7 
A  fortune,  in  this  age,  but  rarely  known. 
They  are,  and  have  been  taught  religion ;  thence 
Their  gentler  spirits  have  suck'd  innocence. 
Each  morn,  and  even,  they  are  taught  to  pray, 
With  the  whole  household,  and  may,  every  day, 
Read  in  their  virtuous  parents'  noble  parts, 
The  mysteries  of  manners,  arms,  and  arts. 
Now,  Penshurst,  they  that  will  proportion  thee 
With  other  edifices,  when  they  see 
Those  proud  ambitious  heaps,  and  nothing  else, 
May  say,  their  lords  have  built,  but  thy  lord 

dwells. 

"  TJiy  great  lord^  &c.]  Robert  Sidney,  the  second  son  of  sir 
Henry  Sidney,  and  brother  of  sir  Philip,  was  knighted  for  his 
gallant  behaviour  at  the  battle  of  Zutphen,  1586  ;  advanced  to 
the  dignity  of  baron  Sidney  of  Penshurst  by  James,  created 
viscount  Lisle  in  1605,  and  finally  promoted  to  the  earldom  of 
Leicester  in  1618.  He  is  not  flattered  in  these  pleasing  lines  | 
for  bis  character  was  truly  excellent. 


THE    FOREST.  257 

III. 
To  SIR  ROBERT  WROTH. 

How  blest  art  thou,  canst  love  the  country, 
WROTH, 

Whether  by  choice,  or  fate,  or  both  ! 
And  though  so  near  the  city,  and  the  court,1 

Art  ta'en  with  neither's  vice  nor  sport: 
That  at  great  times,  art  no  ambitious  guest 

Of  sheriff's  dinner,  or  mayor's  feast. 
Nor  com'st  to  view  the  better  cloth  of  state, 

The  richer  hangings,  or  crown-plate  ; 
Xorthrong'st  (when  masquingis)  to  have  a  sight 

Of  the  short  bravery  of  the  night ; 
To  view  the  jewels,  stuffs,  the  pains,  the  wit 

There  wasted,  some  not  paid  for  yet ! 
But  canst  at  home,  in  thy  securer  rest, 

Live,  with  unbought  provision  blest ; 
Free  from  proud  porches,  or  the  gilded  roofs, 

'Mongst  lowing  herds,  and  solid  hoofs  : 
Along  the  curled  woods,  and  painted  meads, 

Through  which  a  serpent  river  leads 
To  some  cool  courteous  shade,  which  he  calls  his, 

And  makes  sleep  softer  than  it  is. 
Or  if  thou  list  the  night  in  watch  to  break, 

A-bed  canst  hear  the  loud  stag  speak, 
In  spring,  oft  roused  for  thy  master's  sport, 

Who  for  it  makes  thy  house  his  court; 
Or  with  thy  friends,  the  heart  of  all  the  year 

Divid'st,  upon  the  lesser  deer  : 
In  Autumn,  at  the  partridge  mak'st  a  flight, 

And  giv'st  thy  gladder  guests  the  sight ; 

8  And  though  so  near  the  city  and  the  court.]  The  seat  of  sir 
Robert  Wroth  was  at  Durance,  in  Middlesex.  James  was  a 
frequent  guest  there. 

VOL,  VIII.  S 


258  THE   FOREST. 

And  in  the  winter,  hunt'st  the  flying  hare, 

More  for  thy  exercise,  than  fare ; 
While  all  that  follow,  their  glad  ears  apply 

To  the  full  greatness  of  the  cry : 
Or  hawking  at  the  river,  or  the  bush,' 

Or  shooting  at  the  greedy  thrush, 
Thou  dost  with  some  delight  the  day  out- wear. 

Although  the  coldest  of  the  year  ! 
The  whilst  the  several  seasons  thou  hast  seen 

Of  flowery  fields,  of  cop'ces  green, 
The  mowed  meadows,  with  the  fleeced  sheep, 

And  feasts,  that  either  shearers  keep  ; 
The  ripened  ears,  yet  humble  in  their  height, 

And  furrows  laden  with  their  weight ; 
The  apple-harvest,  that  doth  longer  last ; 

The  hogs  return'd  home  fat  from  mast ; 
The  trees  cut  out  in  log,  and  those  boughs  made 

A  fire  now,  that  lent  a  shade  ! 
Thus  Pan  and  Sylvan  having  had  their  rites, 

Comus  puts  in  for  new  delights ; 
And  fills  thy  open  hall  with  mirth  and  cheer, 

As  if  in  Saturn's  reign  it  were ; 
Apollo's  harp,  and  Hermes'  lyre  resound, 

Nor  are  the  Muses  strangers  found. 
The  rout  of  rural  folk  come  thronging  in, 

(Their  rudeness  then  is  thought  no  sin) 

9  Or  hawking  at  the  river.]  i.  e.  for  the  greater  game,  which 
frequented  it.  This,  which  was  the  afternoon's  amusement,  is 
noticed  by  many  of  our  old  writers.  Sir  Topasvfzs  much  attached 
to  it,  if  we  may  trust  Chaucer : 

"  He  couth  hunt  at  the  wild  dere 
And  ride  an  hawking  by  the  rivcrc,"  &c. 

Again : 

"  These  fauconers  upon  a  fair  ri?ere 

That  with  the  hawkis  ban  the  heron  slaine." 

Franklin's  Talc. 


THE   FOREST.  259 

Thy  noblest  spouse  affords  them  welcome  grace ;  * 

And  the  great  heroes  of  her  race 
Sit  mixt  with  loss  of  state,  or  reverence. 

Freedom  doth  with  degree  dispense. 
The  jolly  wassal  walks  the  often  round, 

And  in  their  cups  their  cares  are  drown'd : 
They  think  not  then,  which  side  the  cause  shall 
leese, 

Nor  how  to  get  the  lawyer  fees. 
Such  and  no  other  was  that  age  of  old, 

Which  boasts  t'  have  had  the  head  of  gold. 
And  such,  since  thou   canst  make    thine  own 
content, 

Strive,  Wroth,  to  live  long  innocent. 
Let  others  watch  in  guilty  arms,  and  stand 

The  fury  of  a  rash  command, 
Go  enter  breaches,  meet  the  cannon's  rage, 

That  they  may  sleep  with  scars  in  age ; 
And  shew  their  feathers  shot,  and  colours  torn, 

And  brag  that  they  were  therefore  born. 
Let  this  man  sweat,  and  wrangle  at  the  bar, 

For  every  price,  in  every  jar, 
And  change  possessions  oftner  with  his  breath, 

Than  either  money,  war,  or  death  : 
Let  him,  than  hardest  sires,  more  disinherit, 

And  each  where  boast  it  as  his  merit, 
To  blow  up  orphans,  widows,  and  their  states; 

And  think  his  power  doth  equal  fate's. 
Let  that  go  heap  a  mass  of  wretched  wealth, 

Purchased  by  rapine,  worse  than  stealth, 
And  brooding  o'er  it  sit,  with  broadest  eyes, 

Not  doing  good,  scarce  when  he  dies. 
Let  thousands  more  go  flatter  vice,  and  win, 

By  being  organs  to  great  sin  ; 

1  Thy  noblest  spouse,  &c.]    This  accomplished  and  learned 
lady  has  been  already  mentioned  as  the  niece  of  sir  Philip  Sidney. 

S3 


THE   FOREST. 

Get  place  and  honour,  and  be  glad  to  keep 

The  secrets  that  shall  break  their  sleep  : 
And  so  they  ride  in  purple,  eat  in  plate, 

Though  poison,  think  it  a  great  fate. 
But  thou,  my  Wroth,  if  I  can  truth%  apply, 

Shalt  neither  that,  nor  this  envy : 
Thy  peace  is  made  ;    and  when  man's  state  is 
well, 

'Tis  better,  if  he  there  can  dwell. 
God  wisheth  none  should  wreck  on  a  strange 
shelf: 

To  him  man's  dearer,  than  t'  himself," 
And  howsoever  we  may  think  things  sweet, 

He  always  gives  what  he  knows  meet ; 
Which  who  can  use  is  happy :  Such  be  thou. 

Thy  morning's  and  thy  evening's  vow 
Be  thanks  to  him,  and  earnest  pray'r,  to  find 

A  body  sound,  with  sounder  mind  ; 
To  do  thy  country  service,  thy  self  right; 

That  neither  want  do  thee  affright, 
Nor  death  ;  but  when  thy  latest  sand  is  spent, 

Thou  may'st  think  life  a  thing  but  lent,3 

1  God  wisheth  none  should  wreck  on  a  strange  shelf: 

To  him  man's  dearer  than  t'  himself.']  The  sentiment,  with 
the  following  verses,  is  taken  from  that  celebrated  passage  in 
the  10th  satire  of  Juvenal : 

Permittes  ipsis  etpendcre  Numinibus,  quid 
Conveniat  nobis,  rebusque  sit  utile  nostris  ; 
Nam  projucundis  aptissima  quaeque  dabunt  dii. 

Conor  est  illis  homo,  quam  sibi 

Orandum  est,  ut  sit  metis  sana  in  corpore  sano. 

A  thelf)  or  shelve,  is  a  bank  of  sand.     WHAX. 

J  Thou  may'st  think  life  a  thing  but  lent.]  This  is  a  very  beau- 
tiful Epode,  honourable  alike  to  the  writer,  and  the  subject  ot 
it.  How  nobly  do  Jonson's  lines  rise  above  ttie  common  ad- 
dresses of  his  age  1  he  is  familiar  with  decorum,  and  moral  with 
dignity  ;  while  his  unbounded  command  of  classic  images  gives 
a  force  to  his  language,  which  readers  his  description  of  the 
humblest  object  intereiting. 


THE    FOREST. 

IV. 

To  THE  WORLD. 

A  Farewell  for  a  Gentlewoman, 
virtuous  and  noble. 

False  world,  good-night !  since  thou  hast  brought 

That  hour  upon  my  morn  of  age, 
Henceforth  I  quit  thee  from  my  thought, 

My  part  is  ended  on  thy  stage. 

Do  not  once  hope  that  thou  canst  tempt 

A  spirit  so  resolv'd  to  tread 
Upon  thy  throat,  and  live  exempt 

From  all  the  nets  that  thou  canst  spread. 

I  know  thy  forms  are  studied  arts, 
Thy  subtle  ways  be  narrow  straits ; 

Thy  courtesy  but  sudden  starts, 

And  what  thou  calfst  thy  gifts  are  baits. 

I  know  too,  though  thou  strut  and  paint, 
Yet  art  thou  both  shrunk  up,  and  old  ; 

That  only  fools  make  thee  a  saint, 
And  all  thy  good  is  to  be  sold. 

I  know  thou  whole  art  but  a  shop 
Of  toys  and  trifles,  traps  and  snares, 

To  take  the  weak,  or  make  them  stop  : 
Yet  art  thou  falser  than  thy  wares. 

And  knowing  this  should  I  yet  stay, 
Like  such  as  blow  away  their  lives, 

And  never  will  redeem  a  clay, 

Enamour'd  of  their  golden  gyves  ? 


THE   FOREST. 

Or  having  'scaped  shall  I  return, 
And  thrust  my  neck  into  the  noose, 

From  whence  so  lately,  I  did  burn, 
With  all  my  powers,  my  self  to  loose? 

What  bird,  or  beast  is  known  so  dull, 
That  fled  his  cage,  or  broke  his  chain, 

And  tasting  air  and  freedom,  wull 
Render  his  head  in  there  again  ? 

If  these  who  have  but  sense,  can  shun 
The  engines,  that  have  them  annoy'd ; 

Little  for  me  had  reason  done, 
If  I  could  not  thy  gins  avoid. 

Yes,  threaten,  do.  Alas,  I  fear 
As  little,  as  I  hope  from  thee : 

I  know  thou  canst  nor  shew,  nor  bear 
More  hatred,  than  thou  hast  to  me. 

My  tender,  first,  and  simple  years 
Thou  didst  abuse,  and  then  betray  ; 

Since  stirr'dst  up  jealousies  and  fears, 
When  all  the  causes  were  away. 

Then  in  a  soil  hast  planted  me, 

Where  breathe  the  basest  of  thy  fools 

Where  envious  arts  professed  be, 

And  pride  and  ignorance  the  schools  : 

Where  nothing  is  examin'd,  weigh'd, 
But  as  'tis  rumour'd,  so  believed  ; 

Where  every  freedom  is  betray'd, 
And  every  goodness  tax'd  or  grieved. 

But  what  we're  born  for,  we  must  bear : 
Our  frail  condition  it  is  such, 


THE   FOREST.  263 

That  what  to  all  may  happen  here, 
If't  chance  to  me,  I  must  not  grutch. 

Else  I  my  state  should  much  mistake, 

To  harbour  a  divided  thought 
From  all  my  kind  ;  that  for  my  sake, 

There  should  a  miracle  be  wrought. 

No,  I  do  know  that  I  was  born 

To  age,  misfortune,  sickness,  grief : 

But  I  will  bear  these  with  that  scorn, 
As  shall  not  need  thy  false  relief. 

Nor  for  my  peace  will  I  go  far, 

As  wanderers  do,  that  still  do  roam ; 

But  make  my  strengths,  such  as  they  are, 
Here  in  my  bosom,  and  at  home. 


V. 

SONG. 
To  CELIA. 

Come,  my  CELIA,  let  us  prove,4 
While  we  may,  the  sports  of  love  ; 
Time  will  not  be  ours  for  ever : 
He  at  length  our  good  will  sever. 
Spend  not  then  his  gifts  in  vain. 
Suns  that  set,  may  rise  again ; 
But  if  once  we  lose  this  light, 
'Tis  with  us  perpetual  night. 
Why  should  we  defer  our  joys? 
Fame  and  rumour  are  but  toys. 

*  Come,  my  Celia,  &c.]  This  beautiful  song  is  to  be  found  in 
the  Fox.    See  vol.  iii.  p.  254.    Wballey  says,  "  this,  and  the 


264  THE  FOREST. 

Cannot  we  delude  the  eyes 

Of  a  few  poor  houshold  spies  ; 

Or  his  easier  ears  beguile, 

So  removed  by  our  wile  ? 

'Tis  no  sin  love's  fruit  to  steal, 

But  the  sweet  theft  to  reveal : 

To  be  taken,  to  be  seen, 

These  have  crimes  accounted  been. 

VI. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Kiss  me,  sweet :  the  wary  lover 

Can  your  favours  keep,  and  cover, 

When  the  common  courting  jay 

All  your  bounties  will  betray. 

Kiss  again  :  no  creature  comes. 

Kiss,  and  score  up  wealthy  sums 

On  my  lips  thus  hardly  sundred, 

While  you  breathe.  First  give  a  hundred, 

Then  a  thousand,  then  another 

Hundred,  then  unto  the  other 

Add  a  thousand,  and  so  more  : 

Till  you  equal  with  the  store, 

All  the  grass  that  Rumney  yields, 

Or  the  sands  in  Chelsea  fields, 

Or  the  drops  in  silver  Thames, 

Or  the  stars  that  gild  his  streams, 

In  the  silent  Summer-nights, 

When  youths  ply  their  stolen  delights ; 

That  the  curious  may  not  know 

How  to  tell  'em  as  they  flow, 

And  the  envious,  when  they  find 

What  their  number  is,  be  pined. 

following  are  translation*  from  Catullus."  Translations,  they 
certainly  are  not ;  but  rery  elegant  and  happy  imitations  of 
particular  passages  in  that  poet. 


THE   FOREST.  265 

VII. 
SONG 

THAT  WOMEN  ARE  BUT  MEN*S 
SHADOWS. 

Follow  a  shadow,  it  still  flies  you, 

Seem  to  fly  it,  it  will  pursue  : 
So  court  a  mistress,  she  denies  you ; 

Let  her  alone,  she  will  court  you. 
Say  are  not  women  truly,  then, 
Styl'd  but  the  shadows  of  us  men  ? 

At  morn  and  even  shades  are  longest; 

At  noon  they  are  or  short,  or  none  : 
So  men  at  weakest,  they  are  strongest, 

But  grant  us  perfect,  they're  not  known. 
Say  are  not  women  truly,  then, 
Styl'd  but  the  shadows  of  us  men  ? 

VIII. 
SONG. 

To  SICKNESS. 

Why,  DISEASE,  dost  thou  molest 
Ladies,  and  of  them  the  best? 
Do  not  men  enow  of  rites 
To  thy  altars,  by  their  nights 
Spent  in  surfeits  ;  and  their  days, 
And  nights  too,  in  worser  ways  ? 


266  THE   FOREST. 

Take  heed,  Sickness,  what  you  do, 
I  shall  fear  you'll  surfeit  too. 
Live  not  we,  as  all  thy  stalls, 
Spittles,  pest-house,  hospitals, 
Scarce  will  take  our  present  store  ? 
And  this  age  will  build  no  more. 

Tray  thee,  feed  contented  then, 

Sickness,  only  on  us  men  ; 

Or  if  it  needs  thy  lust  will  taste 

Woman-kind  ;  devour  the  waste 

Livers,  round  about  the  town. 
But,  forgive  me, — with  thy  crown 
They  maintain  the  truest  trade, 
And  have  more  diseases  made. 

What  should  yet  thy  palate  please  ? 

Daintiness,  and  softer  ease, 

Sleeked  limbs,  and  finest  blood? 

If  thy  leanness  love  such  food, 

There  are  those,  that  for  thy  sake, 

Do  enough ;  and  who  would  take 

Any  pains  ;  yea,  think  it  price, 

To  become  thy  sacrifice. 

That  distill  their  husband's  land 

In  decoctions  ;  and  are  mann'd 

With  ten  emp'rics,  in  their  chamber, 

Lying  for  the  spirit  of  amber. 

That  for  the  oil  of  talc  dare  spend 

More  than  citizens  dare  lend  * 

Them,  and  all  their  officers. 

That  to  make  all  pleasure  theirs, 

Will  by  coach,  and  water  go, 

Every  stew  in  town  to  know ; 

5  That  for  the  oil  of  talc  dare  spend 

More  than  citizens  dare  lend.']  See  yol.  iv.  p.  94.  Whalley 
has  strangely  confounded  this  cosmetic  with  a  nauseous  unction 
for  the  tick  in  sheep. 


THE   FOREST. 

Dare  entail  their  loves  on  any, 

Bald  or  blind,  or  ne'er  so  many  : 

And  for  thee  at  common  game, 

Play  away  health,  wealth,  and  fame. 
These,  Disease,  will  thee  deserve  ; 
And  will  long,  ere  thou  should'st  starve, 
On  their  beds,  most  prostitute, 
Move  it,  as  their  humblest  suit, 
In  thy  justice  to  molest 
ISfone  but  them,  and  leave  the  rest. 

IX. 

SONG. 
To  CELIA.' 

Drink  to  me,  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 

And  I'll  not  look  for  wine. 

6  No  part  of  Jonson  has  been  so  frequently  quoted  as  this 
song,  which,  pleasing  as  it  is,  is  not  superior  to  many  others 
scattered  through  his  works. 

"  I  was  surprized,  (Cumberland  says)  the  other  day  to  find 
our  learned  poet  Ben  Jonson  had  been  poaching  in  an  obscure 
collection  of  love  letters,  written  by  the  sophist  Philostratus  in 
a  very  rhapsodical  stile,  merely  for  the  purpose  of  stringing 
together  a  parcel  of  unnatural  far-fetched  conceits,  more  cal- 
culated to  disgust  a  man  of  Jonson's  classical  taste,  than  to  put 
him  upon  the  humble  task  of  copying  them,  and  then  fathering 
the  translation.  The  little  poem  he  has  taken  from  this  despi- 
cable sophist  is  now  become  a  very  popular  song."  Observer^ 
No.  Ixxir. 

Cumberland,  who  reasoned  very  loosely,  was  hardly  aware, 
I  think,  of  the  extraordinary  compliment  he  was  paying  Jonson 
in  this  passage.  But  why  should  he  be  surprised  ? — Did  we  not 
know  that  he  was  directed  to  Philostratus  by  a  more  skilful 
and  excursive  finger  than  his  own,  we  might  perhaps  be  surprised 
at  finding  the  critic  there  ;  but  they  must  have  a  very  imperfect 


268  THE   FOREST. 

The  thirst,  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise, 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  : 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

acquaintance  with  Jonson  who  are  unprepared  to  meet  with 
him  in  any  volume  which  antiquity  has  bequeathed  to  us. 
It  need  not  follow  that  our  poet  admired  every  writer  that  he 
read  :  he  might  not  perhaps,  have  judged  more  favourably  of 
Philostratus  than  Mr.  Cumberland,  or,  rather,  Dr.  Bentley  ; 
yet  he  had  the  address  to  turn  him  to  some  account  :  but  to 
the  quotations  ;  which,  it  must  be  added,  are  translated  without 
much  apparent  knowledge  of  the  original. 

"  E/xoi  8s  jtxovoij  TrpOTnve  TO»£  Oj«.ju,a<nv.  Ei  8s  |3aAe»,  TO<$ 
«£e«A.j<n  7rpo<7<peptia'a,)  7rAijp«  ^lAijjw-arajy  TO  sxmu/jta,  xaj  ow7coj  8»8s." 
Drink  to  me  with  thine  eyes  only—  Or,  if  thou  wilt,  putting 
the  cup  to  thy  lips,  fill  it  with  kisses,  and  so  bestow  it  upon  me." 
Lett.  xxiv. 


xai  TO 

ju,6V  »  Trpoo-aya;  TOJJ  ^eiAscn,  <r«  8s  o»8a  wii/cov."  I,  as  soon  as  I 
behold  thee,  thirst,  and  taking  hold  of  the  cup,  do  not  indeed 
apply  that  to  my  lips  for  drink,  but  thee."  Lett.  xxv.  This  is 
by  no  means  the  sense.  It  was  riot  thus  that  Jonson  read  Phi- 
lostratus. 


a  o*s 

Ivtx.  jw,rj  ju,apau8r)."  I  scntthee 
a  rosy  wreath,  not  so  much  honouring  thee  (though  this  also  is 
in  my  thoughts)  as  bestowing  favour  upon  the  roses,  that  so 
they  might  not  be  withered."  Lett.  xxx. 

<f  EJ  8s  /3#Ae<  TI  <piAcu  p£apj£so-Sa<,  T»  Aeixf/ava  auTav  uvJ^ep.^ov, 
pyxeTi  7rv£ov7a  p"o8ov  ju-ovov  aXAa  xa<  <rs."  If  thou  wouldst  do  a 
kindness  to  thy  lover,  send  back  the  reliques  of  the  roses  (I  gave 
thee)  no  longer  smelling  of  themselves  only,  but  of  thee."  Lett. 
xxxi. 

Mr.  Cumberland  is  quite  scandalized  at  the  omission  of  the 
poet's  acknowledgments  to  Philostratus  :  this  is  very  natural  in 
so  scrupulous  a  borrower  as  himself;  but  he  ought  to  have 
known  that  this  was  not  the  practice  of  Jonson's  times. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that  the  artful  arrangement  of  this  song 
(which  is  peculiar  to  our  poet)  should  have  escaped  the  critics. 
Cumberland  divides  it  into  four  stanzas  ;  so  do  the  ingenious 
authors  of  the  Anthology,  who,  from  the  incorrect  manner  in 
which  they  have  given  it,  evidently  overlooked  the  construction. 


THE   FOREST.  269 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honouring  thee, 
As  giving  it  a  hope,  that  there 

It  could  not  wither'd  be. 
But  thou  the reon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me: 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee. 


X. 

PR^LUDIUM/ 

And  must  I  sing  ?  what  subject  shall  I  choose  ? 
Or  whose  great  name  in  poets'  heaven  use, 
For  the  more  countenance  to  my  active  muse? 

Hercules  ?  alas,  his  bones  are  yet  sore, 
With  his  old  earthly  labours  :  t'  exact  more, 
Of  his  dull  godhead,  were  sin.  I'll  implore 

7  This  Praeladium,  (which  is  merely  sportive)  together  with 
the  admirable  Epode,  to  which  it  forms  an  introduction,  must 
hare  been  among  the  earliest  of  Jonson's  works,  since  both  are 
prefixed  to  a  volume  of  rare  occurrence  (obligingly  communi- 
cated to  me  by  T.  Hill,  Esq.)  called  "  Love's  Martyr,  or  Rosa* 
Jin's  complaint.  Allegorically  shadowing  the  truth  of  Love  in  the 
constant  fate  of  the  Phoenix  and  Turtle — now  first  translated  out 
of  the  venerable  Italian  Torqnato  Caeliano,  by  Robert  Chester, 
to  which  are  added  some  new  compositions  of  several  writers, 
J6"01."  The  Epode  is  immediately  followed  by  "  the  Phoenix 
analyzed,"  and  the  "  Ode"  given  below  (8)  both,  as  it  would 
seem,  by  our  author,  though  his  name  does  not  appear  to  them. 

Till  the  discovery  of  this  volume,  of  which  Whalley  appa- 
rently knew  nothing,  these  poems  could  scarcely  be  considered 
as  intelligible.  Shakspeare,  Mansion,  and  Chapman  united  with 
Jonson  in  this  commendation  of  the  Phoenix,  and  "  consecrated 
their  verses  (the  Preface  says)  to  the  love  and  merit  of  the  true 
noble  knight,  sir  John  Salisburie." 


270  THE   FOREST. 

Phoebus.  No,  tend  thy  cart  still.  Envious  day 
Shall  not  give  out  that  I  have  made  thee  stay, 
And  founder'd  thy  hot  team,  to  tune  my  lay. 

Nor  will  I  beg  of  thee,  Lord  of  the  vine, 
To  raise  my  spirits  with  thy  conjuring  wine, 
In  the  green  circle  of  thy  ivy  twine. 

Pallas,  nor  thee  I  call  on,  mankind  maid, 
That  at  thy  birth,  mad'st  the  poor  smith  afraid, 
Who  with  his  axe,  thy  father's  midwife  plaid. 

Go,  cramp  dull  Mars,  lightVenus,  when  he  snorts, 
Or  with  thy  tribade  trine,  invent  new  sports ; 
Thou  nor  thy  looseness  with  my  making  sorts. 

Let  the  old  boy,  your  son,  ply  his  old  task, 
Turn  the  stale  prologue  to  some  painted  mask  ; 
His  absence  in  my  verse,  is  all  I  ask. 

Hermes,  the  cheater,  shall  not  mix  with  us, 
Though  he  would  steal  his  sisters'  Pegasus, 
And  rifle  him  ;  or  pawn  his  petasus. 


THE  PHCENJX  ANALYSED.  (8) 

Now  after  all,  let  no  man 
Receive  it  for  a  fable, 
If  a  bird  so  amiable 

Do  turn  into  a  woman. 

Or,  by  our  Turtle's  augure, 

That  nature's  fairest  creature 
Prove  of  his  mistress'  feature 

But  a  bare  type  and  figure. 


THE   FOREST.  271 

Nor  all  the  ladies  of  the  Thespian  lake, 
Though  they  were  crush'd  into  one  form,  could 

make 
A  beauty  of  that  merit,  that  should  take 


ODE 


Splendor  !  O  more  than  mortal 
For  other  forms  come  short  all, 
Of  her  illustrious  brightness 
As  far  as  sin's  from  lightness. 

Her  wit  as  quick  and  sprightful 
As  fire,  and  more  delightful 
Than  the  stolen  sports  of  lovers, 
When  night  their  meeting  covers. 

Judgment,  adorn'd  with  learning 
Doth  shine  in  her  discerning, 
Clear  as  a  naked  vestal 
Closed  in  an  orb  of  crystal. 

Her  breath  for  sweet  exceeding 
The  Phoenix'  place  of  breeding, 
But  mix'd  with  sound,  transcending 
All  nature  of  commending. 

Alas  then  whither  wade  I 
In  thought  to  praise  this  lady, 
When  seeking  her  renowning 
My  self  am  so  near  drowning? 

Retire,  and  say  her  graces 
Are  deeper  than  their  faces, 
Yet  she's  not  nice  to  show  them, 
Nor  takes  she  pride  to  know  them. 


272  THE   FOREST. 

My  muse  up  by  commission  ;  no,  I  bring 

My  own  true  fire :  now  my  thought  takes  wing, 

And  now  an  EPODE  to  deep  cars  I  sing. 


XL 

EPODE. 

Not  to  know  vice  at  all,  and  keep  true  state, 

Is  virtue  and  not  fate  : 
Next  to  that  virtue,  is  to  know  vice  well, 

And  her  black  spite  expel. 
Which  to  effect  (since  no  breast  is  so  sure, 

Or  safe,  but  she'll  procure 
Some  way  of  entrance)  we  must  plant  a  guard 

Of  thoughts  to  watch,  and  ward 
At  the  eye  and  ear,  the  ports  unto  the  mind, 

That  no  strange,  or  unkind 
Object  arrive  there,  but  the  heart,  our  spy, 

Give  knowledge  instantly, 
To  wakeful  reason,  our  affections'  king  : 

Who,  in  th'  examining, 
Will  quickly  taste  the  treason,  and  commit 

Close,  the  close  cause  of  it. 
Tis  the  securest  policy  we  have, 

To  make  our  sense  our  slave. 
But  this  true  course  is  not  embraced  by  many  : 

By  many  !  scarce  by  any. 
For  either  our  affections  do  rebel, 

Or  else  the  sentinel, 
That  should  ring  larum  to  the  heart,  doth  sleep; 

Or  some  great  thought  doth  keep 
Back  the  intelligence,  and  falsly  swears, 

They  are  base,  and  idle  fears 
Whereof  the  loyal  conscience  so  complains. 

Thus,  by  these  subtile  trains, 


THE   FOREST.  273 

Do  several  passions  invade  the  mind, 

And  strike  our  reason  blind, 
Of  which  usurping  rank,  some  have1  thought  love 

The  first;  as  prone  to  move 
Most  frequent  tumults,  horrors,  and  unrests, 

In  our  enflamed  breasts: 
But  this  doth  from  the  cloud  of  error  grow, 

Which  thus  we  over-blow. 
The  thing  they  here  call  Love,  is  blind  desire, 

Arm'd  with  bow,  shafts,  and  fire  ; 
Inconstant,  like  the  sea,  of  whence  'tis  born, 

Rough,  swelling,  like  a  storm  : 
With  whom  who  sails,  rides  on  the  surge  of  fear, 

And  boils,  as  if  he  were 
In  a  continual  tempest.  Now,  true  love 

No  such  effects  doth  prove; 
That  is  an  essence  far  more  gentle,  fine, 

Pure,  perfect,  nay  divine ; 
It  is  a  golden  chain  let  down  from  heaven, 

Whose  links  are  bright  and  even, 
That  falls  like  sleep  on  lovers,  and  combines 

The  soft,  and  sweetest  minds 
In  equal  knots  :  this  bears  no  brands,  nor  darts, 

To  murder  different  hearts, 
But  in  a  calm,  and  god-like  unity, 

Preserves  community. 
O,  who  is  he,  that,  in  this  peace,  enjoys 

The  elixir  of  all  joys  ? 
A  form  more  fresh  than  are  the  Eden  bowers, 

And  lasting  as  her  flowers  : 
Richer  than  Time,  and  as  time's  virtue  rare 

Sober,  as  saddest  care  ; 
A  fixed  thought,  an  eye  untaught  to  glance : 

Who,  blest  with  such  high  chance 
Would,  at  suggestion  of  a  steep  desire, 

Cast  himself  from  the  spire 

9  And  a^  time's  virtue  rare.]      Truth,  which  is  said  prover- 
bially to  be  the  daughter  of  Time.     WHAL. 
VOL.  VIII.  T 


274  THE  FOREST. 

Of  all  his  happiness?  But  soft:  I  hear 

Some  vicious  fool  draw  near, 
That  cries,  we  dream,  and  swears  there's  no  such 
thing, 

As  this  chaste  love  we  sing. 
Peace,  Luxury,1  thou  art  like  one  of  those 

Who,  being  at  sea,  suppose, 
Because  they  move,  the  continent  doth  so. 

No,  Vice,  we  let  thee  know, 
Though  thy  wild  thoughts  with  sparrows  wings 
do  flie. 

Turtles  can  chastly  die ; 
And  yet  (in  this  t'  express  ourselves  more  clear) 

We  do  not  number  here 
Such  spirits  as  are  only  continent, 

Because  lust's  means  are  spent : 
Or  those,  who  doubt  the  common  mouth  of  fame, 

And  for  their  place  and  name, 
Cannot  so  safely  sin  :  their  chastity 

Is  mere  necessity. 
Nor  mean  we  those,  whom  vows  and  conscience 

Have  fill'd  with  abstinence  : 
Though  we  acknowledge,  who  can  so  abstain, 

Makes  a  most  blessed  gain. 
He  that  for  love  of  goodness  hateth  ill, 

Is  more  crown-worthy  still, 
Than  he,  which  for  sin's  penalty  forbears  ; 

His  heart  sins,  though  he  fears. 
But  we  propose  a  person  like  our  Dove, 

Graced  with  a  Phoenix'  love  ; 
A  beauty  of  that  clear  and  sparkling  light, 

Would  make  a  day  of  night, 

1  Peace,  luxury.]  i.e.  lust.  It  is  simply  the  Fr.  luxure, then  in 
general  use.  On  this  trite  word,  Steevens  (under  the  name  of 
Collins)  has  poured  out,  for  the  benefit  of  the  youthful  readers 

of  Shakspeare,  pages  of  the  grossest  indecency 

— "  verbis,  nudum  olido  stans 

Fornice  mancipium  quibus  abstinet  /" 


THE    FOREST.  275 

And  turn  the  blackest  sorrows  to  bright  joys; 

Whose  odorous  breath  destroys 
All  taste  of  bitterness,  and  makes  the  air 

As  sweet  as  she  is  fair. 
A  body  so  harmoniously  composed, 

As  if  nature  disclosed 
All  her  best  symmetry  in  that  one  feature! 

O,  so  divine  a  creature, 
Who  could  be  false  to  ?  chiefly,  when  he  knows 

How  only  she  bestows 
The  wealthy'treasure  of  her  love  on  him  ; 

Making  his  fortunes  swim 
In  the  full  flood  of  her  admired  perfection  ? 

What  savage,  brute  affection, 
Would  not  be  fearful  to  offend  a  dame 

Of  this  excelling  frame  ? 
Much  more  a  noble,  and  right  generous  mind, 

To  virtuous  moods  inclin'd, 
That  knows  the  weight  of  guilt ; "  he  will  refrain 

From  thoughts  of  such  a  strain, 
And  to  his  sense  object  this  sentence  ever, 

"  Man  may   securely  sin,   but    safely 
never." 

XII. 
EPISTLE 

To  ELIZABETH  COUNTESS  OF 

RUTLAND.' 
MADAM, 

Whilst  that  for  which  all  virtue  now  is  sold, 
And  almost  every  vice,  almighty  gold, 

*  That  knows  the  weight  of  guilt,  &c.]    This  is  from  Seneca, 
the  tragedian  : 

Quid  pcena  presens  conscice  mentis  pavor, 
Animusque  culpa  plenus,  ft  semet  timens : 
Scelus  aliqua  tutu/n,  nulla  securum  tulit. 

*  Elizabeth  countess  of  Rutland.]  The  lady  to  whom  the  79th 

T2 


THE   FOREST. 

That  which,  to  boot  with  hell,  is  thought  worth 

heaven 

And  for  it,  life,  conscience,  yea  souls  are  given, 
Toils,  by  grave  custom,  up  and  down  the  court, 
To  every  squire,  or  groom,  that  will  report 
Well  or  ill,  only  all  the  following  year, 
Just  to  the  weight  their  this  day's  presents  bear ; 
While  it  makes  huishers  serviceable  men, 
And  some  one  apteth  to  be  trusted  then, 
Though  never  after  ;  whiles  it  gains  the  voice 
Of  some  grand  peer,  whose  air  doth  make  rejoice 
The  fool  that  gave  it ;  who  will  want  and  weep, 
When  his  proud  patron's  favours  are  asleep ; 
While  thus  it  buys  great  grace,  and  hunts  poor 

fame ; 
Runs  between  man  and  man  ;    'tween  dame  and 

dame ; 

Solders  crack'd  friendship ;  makes  love  last  a  day ; 
Or  perhaps  less  :  whilst  gold  bears  all  this  sway, 
I,  that  have  none  to  send  you,  send  you  verse. 
A  present  which,  if  elder  writs  rehearse 
The  truth  of  times,  was  once  of  more  esteem, 
Than  this  our  gilt,  nor  golden  age  can  deem, 
When  gold  was  made  no  weapon  to  cut  throats, 
Or  put  to  flight  Astrea,  when  her  ingots 
Were  yet  unfound,  and  better  placed  in  earth,4 
Than  here,  to  give  pride  fame,  and  peasants  birth. 

epigram  is  addressed,  daughter  of  sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  wife 
of  Roger  Manners,  fifth  earl  of  Rutland.     She  died  before  the 
appearance  of  this  volume,  as  did  her  husband. 
*  — —  —  when  her  ingbts 

Were  yet  unfound^  and  better  placed  in  earth,  fyc.] 

"  Aurum  irrepertum  el  sic  melius  titum 
Cum  terra  celet,  spernerejortior 
Quum  cogere  human os  in  usus 
Omne  iacrum  rapknte  dextra"     HOE., 


THE    FOREST.  277 

But  let  this  dross  carry  what  price  it  will 
With  noble  ignorants,  and  let  them  still 
Turn  upon  scorned  verse  their  quarter-face: 
With  you,  I  know,  my  offering  will  find  grace. 
For  what  a  sin  'gainst  your  great  father's  spirit, 
Were  it  to  think,  that  you  should  not  inherit 
His  love  unto  the  Muses,  when  his  skill 
Almost  you  have,  or  may  have  when  you  will  ? 
Wherein  wise  nature  you  a  dowry  gave, 
Worth  an  estate,  treble  to  that  you  have. 
Beauty  I  know  is  good,  and  blood  is  more ; 
Riches  thought  most  j    but,  madam,  think  what 

store 

The  world  hath  seen,  which  all  these  had  in  trust, 
And  now  lie  lost  in  their  forgotten  dust. 
It  is  the  Muse  alone,  can  raise  toh  eaven, 
And  at  her  strong  arm's  end,  hold  up,  and  even, 
The  souls  she  loves.  Those  other  glorious  notes, 
Inscribed  in  touch  or  marble,  or  the  coats 
Painted,  or  carv'd  upon  our  great  men's  tombs, 
Or  in  their  windows,  do  but  prove  the  wombs 
That  bred  them,  graves  :    when  they  were  born 

they  died, 

That  had  no  muse  to  make  their  fame  abide. 
How  many  equal  with  the  Argive  queen, 
Have  beauty  known,  yet  none  so  famous  seen? 
Achilles  was  not  first,  that  valiant  was, 
Or,  in  an  army's  head,  that  lock'd  in  brass 
Gave  killing  strokes.  There  were  brave  men  before 
Ajax,  or  Idomen,*  or  all  the  store 

5  There  were  brave  men  before 

Ajax,  or  Idomen.]  The  sentiment  is  from  Horace,  lib.  ir.  9. 

Vixerefortet  ante  Agamemnona 

Multi ;  std  omnes  iUacrymabiles 

UrgentW)  ignotique  longa 

Noctc,  carent  quia  vute  sacro.    WHAI» 


278  THE   FOREST. 

That  Homer  brought  to  Troy  ;  yet  none  so  live, 

Because  they  lack'd  the  sacred  pen  could  give 

Like  life  unto  them.  Who  heav'd  Hercules 

Unto  the  stars,  or  the  Tyndarides? 

Who  placed  Jason's  Argo  in  the  sky, 

Or  set  bright  Ariadne's  crown  so  high? 

Who  made  a  lamp  of  Berenice's  hair, 

Or  lifted  Cassiopeia  in  her  chair, 

But  only  poets,  rapt  with  rage  divine  ? 

And  such,  or  my  hopes  fail,  shall  make  you  shine. 

You,  and  that  other  star,  that  purest  light, 

Of  all  Lucina's  train,  Lucy  the  bright  ;* 

6  You,  and  that  other  star,  that  purest  light 

Of  all  Lucina's  train,  Lucy  the  bright.]  This,  I  presume, 
was  Lucy  countess  of  Bedford,  to  whom  our  author  hath  ad- 
dressed some  epigrams,  and  who  was  particularly  celeb  rated  by 
Dr.  Donne.  If  what  follows  in  the  succeeding  lines  must  be 
applied  to  him,  one  would  imagine  some  little  misunderstanding  . 
was  then  subsisting  between  him  and  the  poet ;  though  from 
the  verses  which  Donne  and  Jonson  have  mutually  wrote  to 
each  other,  it  appears  there  was  always  a  very  friendly  cor- 
respondence between  them.  WUAX. 

No  doubt  of  it :  but  Whalley  is  mistaken  in  the  person  here 
meant,  "who  is  not  Donne  but  Daniel.  There  is  no  necessity  for 
wantonly  stirring  up  new  enmities,  since  Jonson  is  already 
charged  with  more  than  he  ever  felt ;  and  it  is  certain  that  he 
was  at  this  time,  and  continued  to  the  end  of  his  life,  the  affec- 
tionate friend  and  admirer  of  Donne. 

That  there  was  no  cordiality  between  our  poet  and  Daniel 
seems  probable,  and  he  here  gives  the  reason  of  it.  Daniel 
"  envied"  him.  A  little  retrospect  into  hii  history  may  shew, 
perhaps,  that  the  assertion  (setting  aside  the  undoubted  veracity 
of  Jonson)  has  nothing  improbable  in  it.  Daniel  was  born  in 
1562.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  was  admitted  a  commoner  of 
Magdalen  Hall,  Oxford,  where  he  continued  three  years.  In 
1582  he  came  to  London,  and  was  recommended  to  the  court 
through  the  interest  of  his  brother-in-law,  "  the  resolute  John 
Florio."  On  the  death  of  Spencer,  in  1599,  he  succeeded  to  the 
Laureatship  ;  in  other  words,  he  became  the  court  poet,  and  as 
such,  was  called  on  to  furnish  the  complimentary  poems,  pa- 
geants, masques,  &c.  incidental  to  the  situation.  He  seems, 
therefore,  not  unnaturally,  to  hare  experienced  some  uneasiness 


THE  FOREST.  279 

Than  which  a  nobler  heaven  itself  knows  not ; 
Who,  though  she  have  a  better  verser  got, 

•when,  soon  after  the  accession  of  James  I.  Jonson  was  called 
upon  to  prepare  the  Masques  of  that  gay  period.  This  appears 
to  be  the  very  head  and  front  of  our  poet's  offending,  unless  it 
be  added,  that  though  he  always  thought  and  called  Daniel 
t(  a  good  and  honest  roan,"  he  entertained  no  very  lofty  opinion 
of  his  style  of  poetry. 

Daniel  however,  numbered  among  his  friends  and  patrons, 
the  most  distinguished  characters  of  both  sexes  ;  and  it  appears 
that  he  was  not  wanting  in  remonstrating  against  the  attempt 
to  supersede  him,  nor  in  using  the  interest  which  his  talents  and 
virtues  had  procured,  to  be  permitted  to  resume  what  he  pro- 
bably considered  as  the  duties  of  his  office.  In  the  dedication 
of  the  Vision  of  the  Twehe  Goddesses,  1604,  to  the  countess  of 
Bedford,  he  expresses  his  thankfulness  "  for  her  preferring 
him  to  the  queen,  for  this  employment."  The  dedication  is,  in 
itself,  sufficiently  captious  and  querulous,  and  seems  pointed,  in 
some  measure,  at  our  poet.  He  was  also  called  on  to  assist  in 
the  solemnity  of  creating  Henry,  prince  of  Wales ;  when  he 
wrote  the  masque  or  rather  pageant  of  Tethys'  Festival.* 

But  Daniel's  spirits  were  wounded,  and  he  could  not  appa- 
rently brook  the  rising  favour  of  his  younger  competitor.  About 
a  year  after  the  publication  of  his  first  Masque,  he  printed  his 
P/iilotas,  with  a  dedication,  in  verse,  to  prince  Henry,  of  which 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  read  without  emotion  the  simple  and 
affecting  conclusion: 

11  And  I,  although  among  the  latter  train 

And  least  of  those  that  sung  unto  this  land, 
Have  borne  my  part,  though  in  an  humble  strain, 
And  pleased  the  gentler  that  did  understand. 

*  I  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  correcting  a  mistake  re- 
specting this  "  Solemnitie."  It  is  stated,  vol.  vii.  p  160,  that  the 
Masque  ofOberon  was  performed  before  the  Prince  on  the  5th 
of  June,  1610.  I  have  since  been  enabled  to  ascertain,  by  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Cohen,  that  the  masque  performed  on  that  day 
was  the  Tethys  of  Daniel,  to  which  therefore  the  description  of 
the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies  must  be  referred.  I  he  Masque 
of  Oberon  was  probably  presented,  as  it  is  printed,  after  the 
Barriers,  on  the  sixth  day,  or  Thursday.  The  machinery  of 
Tethys  was  furnished  by  Inigo  Jones,  and  the  accompaniments 
must  have  been  very  splendid.  The  poet's  part  was  the  least 
important,  and  consisted  of  little  more  than  some  pretty  songs. 


280  THE    FOREST. 

Or  poet,  in  the  court-account,  than  I, 
And  who  cloth  me,  though  I  not  him,  envy, 
Yet  foi  the  timely  favours  she  hath  done, 
To  my  less  sanguine  muse,  wherein  she  hath  won 
My  grateful  soul,  the  subject  of  her  powers, 
I  have  already  used  some  happy  hours, 

And  never  had  my  harmless  pen  at  all 

Distain'd  with  any  loose  immodesty, 
Nor  ever  noted  to  be  touch'd  -with  gall, 

To  aggravate  the  worst  man's  infamy. 

But  still  have  done  the  fairest  offices 

To  virtue  and  the  time  :  yet  nought  prevails, 

And  all  our  labours  are  without  success, 
For  either  favour  or  our  virtue  fails. 

And  therefore  since  I  have  outliv'd  the  date 
Of  former  grace,  acceptance,  and  delight, 

I  would  my  lines  late  born  beyond  the  fate 
Of  her  spent  line,*  had  never  come  to  light  1 

So  had  I  not  been  tax'd  for  wishing  well, 
Nor  now  mistaken  by  the  censuring  stage, 

Nor  in  my  fame  and  reputation  fell, 

Which  I  esteem  more  than  what  all  the  age 

Or  th'  earth  can  give  :  But  years  hath  done  this  wrong, 

To  make  me  write  too  much,  and  live  too  long." 

He  could  not  be  beyond  five  and  forty  at  this  period  of  de- 
spondency :  he  remained,  however,  about  the  court  for  some 
time  longer,  probably  till  about  1615,  in  which  year,  Jonson, 
•who  was  itill  rising  in  reputation,  obtained  a  fixed  salary  for 
his  services,  when  this  amiable  man  retired  to  Somersetshire, 
commenced  farmer,  and  passed  the  remainder  of  his  days  in 
privacy,  piety,  and  peace. 

Daniel  was  highly  esteemed  by  queen  Anne,  and  to  this 
Jonson  alludes  in  the  text,  while  his  great  patron  was  James. 
Still,  however,  there  seems  no  adequate  cause  for  any  hostility 
against  Jonson,  if  he  only  made  a  fair  advantage  of  his  superior 
talents  for  the  drama ;  for  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  his 
rival  wanted  both  energy  and  fancy,  and  which  indeed,  he  la- 
ments, just  above,  that  he  ever  attempted. 

*  Of  her  spent  line.]  i.  e.  of  queen  Elizabeth's. 


THE   FOREST.  281 

To  her  remembrance ;    which  when   time   shall 

bring 

To  curious  light,  to  notes  I  then  shall  sing, 
Will  prove  old  Orpheus'  act  no  tale  to  be : 
For  I  shall  move  stocks,  stones,  no  less  than  he. 
Then  all  that  have  but  done  my  Muse  least  grace,7 
Shall  thronging  come,  and  boast  the  happy  place 
They  hold  in  my  strange  poems,  which,  as  yet, 
Had  not  their  form  touch'd  by  an  English  wit. 
There,  like  a  rich  and  golden  pyramed, 
Born  up  by  statues,  shall  I  rear  your  head 
Above  your  under-carved  ornaments, 
And  shew  how  to  the  life  my  soul  presents 
Your  form  imprest   there  :    not   with  tickling 

rhymes, 

Or  common-places,  filch'd,  that  take  these  times, 
But  high  and  noble  matter,  such  as  flies 
From  brains  entranced,  and  fill'd  with  extasies  ; 
Moods,  which  the  godlike  Sidney  oft  did  prove, 
And  your  brave  friend  and  mine  so  well  did  love. 

Who,  wheresoever  he  be 

The  rest  is  lost. 

XIII. 

EPISTLE. 
To  KATHARINE  LADY  AUBIGNY.' 

'Tis  grown  almost  a  danger  to  speak  true 
Of  any  good  mind,  now;  there  are  so  few. 

7  Then  all  that  have  but  done  my  Muse  least  grace, 

Shall  thronging  come.]  This  intimates  a  design  the  poet  had 
of  celebrating  the  ladies  of  his  native  country.     WHAL. 

See  vol.  vii.  p.  151. 

1  Lady  Aubigny."]  This  lady  has  been  already  noticed.     She 
was  the  daughter  and  sole  heir  of  sir  Geryase  Clifton,  and  was 


282  THE   FOREST. 

The  bad,  by  number,  are  so  fortified, 

As  what  they  have  lost  t'  expect,  they  dare  deride. 

So  both  the  prais'd  and  praisers  suffer ;  yet, 

For  others  ill  ought  none  their  good  forget. 

I  therefore,  who  profess  myself  in  love 

With  every  virtue,  wheresoe'er  it  move, 

And  howsoever ;  as  I  am  at  feud 

With  sin  and  vice,  though  with  a  throne  endued  ; 

And,  in  this  name,  am  given  out  dangerous 

By  arts,  and  practice  of  the  vicious, 

Such  as  suspect  themselves,  and  think  it  fit, 

For  their  own  capital  crimes,  to  indict  my  wit; 

I  that  have  suffer'd  this ;  and  though  forsook 

Of  fortune,  have  not  alter'd  yet  my  look, 

Or  so  myself  abandon'd,  as  because 

Men  are  not  just,  or  keep  no  holy  laws 

Of  nature  and  society,  I  should  faint ; 

Or  fear  to  draw  true  lines,  'cause  others  paint: 

I,  madam,  am  become  your  praiser ;  where, 

If  it  may  stand  with  your  soft  blush,  to  hear 

Yourself  but  told  unto  yourself,  and  see 

In  my  character  what  your  features  be, 

You  will  not  from  the  paper  slightly  pass  : 

No  lady,  but  at  some  time  loves  her  glass. 

And  this  shall  be  no  false  one,  but  as  much 

Remov'd,  as  you  from  need  to  have  it  such. 

Look  then,  and  see  your  self — I  will  not  say 

Your  beauty,  for  you  see  that  every  clay  ; 

And  so  do  many  more :  all  which  can  call 

It  perfect,  proper,  pure,  and  natural, 

Not  taken  up  o'  the  doctors,  but  as  well 

As  I,  can  say  and  see  it  doth  excel ; 

married  to  lord  Aubigny  in  1607.  The  connection  with  a  family 
so  deservedly  dear  to  James  I.  as  the  Stewarts,  procured  a 
peerage  for  her  father,  who  was  created  in  the  following  year, 
baron  Clifton,  of  Leighton  Bromswold,  in  Nottinghamshire. 


THE    FOREST.  283 

That  asks  but  to  be  censured  by  the  eyes  : 
And  in  those  outward  forms,  all  fools  are  wise. 
Nor  that  your  beauty  wanted  not  a  dower, 
Do  I  reflect.   Some  alderman  has  power, 
Or  cozening  farmer  of  the  customs,  so 
To  advance  his  doubtful  issue,  and  o'erflow 
A  prince's  fortune  :  these  are  gifts  of  chance, 
And  raise  not  virtue;  they  may  vice  enhance. 
My  mirror  is  more  subtle,  clear,  refined, 
And  takes  and  gives  the  beauties  of  the  mind ; 
Though  it  reject  not  those  of  fortune  :  such 
As  blood,  and  match.    Wherein,  how  more  than 

much 

Are  you  engaged  to  your  happy  fate, 
For  such  a  lot !   that  mixt  you  with  a  state 
Of  so  great  title,  hirth,  but  virtue  most, 
Without  which  all  the  rest  were  sounds,  or  lost, 
'Tis  only  that  can  time  and  chance  defeat : 
For  he  that  once  is  good,  is  ever  great. 
Wherewith  then,  madam,  can  you  better  pay 
This  blessing  of  your  stars,  than  by  that  way 
Of  virtue,  which  you  tread?  What  if  alone, 
Without  companions  ?  'tis  safe  to  have  none. 
In  single  paths  dangers  with  ease  are  watch'd ; 
Contagion  in  the  press  is  soonest  catch'd. 
This  makes,  that  wisely  you  decline  your  life 
Far  from  the  maze  of  custom,  error,  strife, 
And  keep  an  even,  and  unalter'd  gait ; 
Not  looking  by,  or  back,  like  those  that  wait 
Times  and  occasions,  to  start  forth,  and  seem. 
Which  though  the  turning  world  may  disesteem, 
Because  that  studies  spectacles  and  shows, 
And  after  varied,  as  fresh  objects,  goes, 
Giddy  with  change,  and  therefore  cannot  see 
Right,  the  right  way  ;  yet  must  your  comfort  be 
Your  conscience,  and  not  wonder  if  none  asks 
For  truth's   complexion,    where  they  all  wear 
masks. 


THE    FOREST. 

Let  who  will  follow  fashions  and  attires, 
Maintain  their  leigers  forth  for  foreign  wires, 
Melt  down  their  husbands  lands,  to  pour  away 
On  the  close  groom  and  page,  on  new-year's  day, 
And  almost  all  days  after,  while  they  live; 
They  find  it  both  so  witty,  and  safe  to  give. 
Let  them  on  powders,  oils,  and  paintings  spend, 
Till  that  no  usurer,  nor  his  bawds  dare  lend 
Them  or  their  officers  ;  and  no  man  know, 
Whether  it  be  a  face  they  wear  or  no. 
Let  them  waste  body  and  state ;  and  after  all, 
When  their  own  parasites  laugh  at  their  fall, 
May  they  have  nothing  left,  whereof  they  can 
Boast,  but  how  oft  they  have  gone  wrong  to  man, 
And  call  it  their  brave  sin  :  for  such  there  be 
That  do  sin  only  for  the  infamy ; 
And  never  think,  how  vice  doth  every  hour 
Eat  on  her  clients,  and  some  one  devour. 
You,  madam,  young  have  learn'd  to  shun  these 

shelves, 

Whereon  the  most  of  mankind  wreck  themselves, 
And  keeping  a  just  course,  have  early  put 
Into  your  harbour,  and  all  passage  shut 
'Gainst  storms  or  pirates,  that  might  charge  your 

peace; 

For  which  you  worthy  are  the  glad  increase 
Of  your  blest  womb,1  made  fruitful  from  above 
To  pay  your  lord  the  pledges  of  chaste  love ; 
And  raise  a  noble  stem,  to  give  the  fame 
To  Clifton's  blood,  that  is  denied  their  name. 
Grow,  grow,  fair  tree!  and  as  thy  branches  shoot, 
Hear  what  the  Muses  sing  above  thy  root, 
By  me,  their  priest,  if  they  can  aught  divine  : 
Before  the  moons  have  fill'd  their  triple  trine, 

1  — —  — the  glad  increase 

Of  your  blest  womb,  &c.]  If  this  was  the  first  child,  (as 
seems  probable)  the  "  Epistle"  was  written  in  1608.  Lady  Au- 
bigny  brought  her  husband  four  sons  and  three  daughters.  Of 


THE   FOREST.  285 

To  crown  the  burden  which  you  go  withal, 
It  shall  a  ripe  and  timely  issue  fall, 
T'  expect  the  honours  of  great  AUBIGNY  ; 
And  greater  rites,  yet  writ  in  mystery, 
But  which  the  fates  forbid  me  to  reveal. 
Only  thus  much  out  of  a  ravish'd  zeal 
Unto  your  name,  and  goodness  of  your  life, 
They  speak ;  since  you  are  truly  that  rare  wife, 
Other  great  wives  may  blush  at,  when  they  see 
What  your  tried  manners  are,  what  theirs  should 

be ; 

How  you  love  one,  and  him  you  should,  how  still 
You  are  depending  on  his  word  and  will ; 
Not  fashion'd  for  the  court,  or  strangers  eyes ; 
But  to  please  him,  who  is  the  dearer  prize 
Unto  himself,  by  being  so  dear  to  you. 
This  makes,  that  your  affections  still  be  new, 
And  that  your  souls  conspire,  as  they  were  gone 
Each  into  other,  and  had  now  made  one. 
Live  that  one  still !  and  as  long  years  do  pass, 
Madam,  be  bold  to  use  this  truest  glass  ; 
Wherein  your  form  you  still  the  same  shall  find  ; 
Because  nor  it  can  change,  nor  such  a  mind. 

the  sons,  three  fell  nobly  in  the  field  in  the  cause  of  their  so- 
vereign ;  the  fourth,  the  eldest,  lived  to  perform  the  last  duties 
to  his  mangled  remains,  and  died  in  1655. 

To  this  nobleman  Herrick  has  a  poem  in  which  he  alludes 
to  the  disastrous  fate  of  his  family.     Hesperides}  p.  197. 
"  Of  all  those  three  brave  brothers,  fain  in  war, 
(Not  without  glory)  noble  sir,  you  are, 
Despite  of  all  concussions,  left  the  stem 
To  shoot  forth  generations  like  to  them." 


256  THE    FOREST. 

XIV. 
ODE. 


ON  HIS  BIRTH-DAY. 


Now  that  the  hearth  is  crown'cl  with  smiling  fire, 
And  some  do  drink,  and  some  do  dance, 
Some  ring, 
Some  sing, 

And  all  do  strive  to  advance 
The  gladness  higher; 

*  To  sir  William  Sidney,  on  Ms  birth-day^  He  was  the  eldest 
son  of  sir  Robert  Sidney,  created  earl  of  Leicester  by  king 
James,  and  a  nephew  of  sir  Philip  Sidney.  He  died  unmarried, 
and  was  buried  in  St.  Paul's  cathedral.  WHAL. 

Sir  William  Sidney  appears  to  have  died  about  the  same  time 
with  prince  Henry  ;  so  that  this  Ode  must  be  placed  among  our 
author's  earlier  pieces.  G.  Wither  (the  Satyromastix)  drew  up 
some  "  Mournful  Elegies"  on  the  death  of  the  latter,  and  ad- 
dressed them  to  sir  William's  father,  in  which  he  tells  the  noble 
lord  that 

"  His  haplesse  loss  had  more  apparent  been, 

But  darken'd  by  the  Other,  'twas  unseen  !" 
Furthermore  to  comfort  him  he  presents  him  with  an  anagram 
on  his  son's  name,  which  is  about  the  worst  that  ever  appeared. 

"  GULIELMUS  SlDNEIUS. 

En  vilis  gelidus  sum. 

But 
Ei*  nil  luge,  sidus  sum." 

And  which,  lest  the  consolatory  part  of  it  should  escape  him, 
is  thus  explained  at  large  : 

"  Nor  do  I  think  it  can  be  rightly  said, 
You  are  unhappy  in  this  One  that's  dead  ^ 
For  notwithstanding  his  first  anagram, 
Frights,  with  Behold^  how  cold  and  Tile  I  am; 
Yet  in  his  last  he  seems  more  cheerful  far, 
And  joyes  with  Soft,  mourn  not,  I  am  a  star. 


THE   FOREST.  28? 

Wherefore  should  I 
Stand  silent  by, 

Who  not  the  least, 
Both  love  the  cause,  and  authors  of  the  feast  ? 

Give  me  my  cup,  but  from  the  Thespian  well, 
That  I  may  tell  to  SIDNEY  what 
This  day 
Doth  say, 

And  he  may  think  on  that 
Which  I  do  tell ; 

When  all  the  noise 
Of  these  forced  joys, 
Are  fled  and  gone, 
And  he  with  his  best  Genius  left  alone. 

This  day  says,  then,  the  number  of  glad  years 
Are  justly  summ'd,  that  make  you  man  ; 
Your  vow 
Must  now 

Strive  all  right  ways  it  can, 
T'  outstrip  your  peers  : 

Since  he  doth  lack 
Of  going  back 

Little,  whose  will 
Doth  urge  him  to  run  wrong,  or  to  stand  still. 

Nor  can  a  little  of  the  common  store 
Of  nobles  virtue,  shew  in  you; 
Your  blood 
So  good 

And  great,  must  seek  for  new, 
And  study  more  : 

Nor  weary,  rest 
On  what's  deceas't. 

For  they,  that  swell 
With  dust  of  ancestors,  in  graves  but  dwell. 


288  THE   FOREST. 

'Twill  be  exacted  of  your  name,  whose  son, 
Whose  nephew,  whose  grandchild  you  are ; 
And  men 
Will  then 

Say  you  have  followed  far, 
When  well  begun : 

Which  must  be  now, 
They  teach  you  how. 
And  he  that  stays 
To  live  until  to-morrow',  hath  lost  two  days. 

So  may  you  live  in  honour,  as  in  name, 
If  with  this  truth  you  be  inspired  ; 
So  may 
This  day 

Be  more,  and  long  desired  ; 
And  with  the  flame 

Of  love  be  bright, 
As  with  the  light 

Of  bonfires !  then 

The  birth-day  shines,  when  logs  not  burn,  but 
men. 


To  HEAVEN. 

Good  and  great  GOD  !  can  I  not  think  of  thee, 

But  it  must  straight  my  melancholy  be  ? 

Is  it  interpreted  in  me  disease, 

That,  laden  with  my  sins,  I  seek  for  ease  ? 

O  be  thou  witness,  that  the  reins  dost  know 

And  hearts  of  all,  if  I  be  sad  for  show; 

And  judge  me  after  :  if  I  dare  pretend 

To  aught  but  grace,  or  aim  at  other  end. 

As  thou  art  all,  so  be  thou  all  to  me, 

First,  midst,  and  last,  converted  One,  and  Three ! 


THE   FOREST.  289 

My  faith,  my  hope,  my  love ;  and  in  this  state, 
My  judge,  my  witness,  and  my  advocate. 
Where  have  I  been  this  while  exiled  from  thee, 
And  whither  rapt,  now  thou  but  stoop'st  to  me? 
Dwell,  dwell  here  still !  O,  being  every  where, 
How  can  I  doubt  to  find  thee  ever  here  ? 
I  know  my  state,  both  full  of  shame  and  scorn, 
Conceived  in  sin,  and  unto  labour  born, 
Standing  with  fear,  and  must  with  horror  fall, 
And  destined  unto  judgment,  after  all. 
I  feel  my  griefs  too,  and  there  scarce  is  ground, 
Upon  my  flesh  t'  inflict  another  wound  : 3 
Yet  dare  I  not  complain,  or  wish  for  death, 
With  holy  PAUL,  lest  it  be  thought  the  breath 
Of  discontent ;  or  that  these  prayers  be 
For  weariness  of  life,  not  love  of  thee.4 


and  there  scarce  is  found 


Upon  my  flesh  to  inflict  another  wound."]  Opposite  to  this 
passage,  Whalley  has  written,  in  the  margin  of  the  old  folio, 
(t  Des  Barreaux'  Sonnet."  What  resemblance  he  found  between 
this  lowly  expression  of  a  broken  spirit,  and  the  daring  fami- 
liarity of  Des  Barreaux'  defiance,  it  is  not  easy  to  discover.  I 
have  nothing  to  object  to  the  poetry  of  the  Sonnet  :  its  lan- 
guage too  is  good,  but  its  sentiments  are  dreadful. 

If  Jonson  bad  any  thing  in  view  besides  the  Scriptures,  in 
this  place,  it  might  be  the  following  verse  of  Euripides,  which 
is  quoted  by  Longinus,  and  praised  for  its  nervous  conciseness  : 

xaxcov  8>j*  x'  OWXST'  ecrd'  o?nj  Tedjj. 


4  This  is  an  admirable  prayer  :  solemn,  pious,  and  scriptural. 
Jonson's  religious  impressions  were  deep  and  awful.  He  had, 
like  all  of  us,  his  moments  of  forgetfulness  ;  but  whenever  he 
returned  to  himself,  he  was  humble,  contrite,  and  believing. 


VOL.  VIII.  U 


UNDERWOODS. 

CONSISTING  OF 

DIVERS    POEMS. 

- — •  Cineri,  gloria  sera  venit.     MART. 


U2 


UNDERWOODS.]  From  the  second  folio,  1641.  The  poems 
collected  under  this  head,  (with  the  exception  of  a  small  number 
taken  from  published  volumes,)  were  found  amongst  Jonson's 
papers.  Whether  he  designed  them  all  for  the  press  cannot  now 
be  known  :  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  from  the  imperfect  state 
in  which  many  of  them  appear,  that  he  did  not. — No  selection, 
however,  was  made,  though  there  appears  some  rude  attempt 
to  arrange  them,  with  a  reference  to  dates  ;  but  the  disposition 
of  them,  in  general,  is  very  incomplete,  and  marks  of  careless- 
ness and  ignorance  are  visible  in  every  page.  Much  is  misplaced, 
or  mutilated,  and  more,  perhaps,  is  lost.  It  is  singular  that  no 
notice  or  memorandum  of  any  kind  should  hand  down  to  us 
the  name  or  condition  of  the  editor  or  printer  of  this  unfortu- 
nate volume,  unless,  as  there  is  some  reason  to  suspect,  the 
whole  was  put  to  the  press  surreptitiously. 


TO 

THE   READER, 

With  the.  same  leave  the  ancients  called  that  kind  of 
body  Sylva,  or"fXfi,  in  which  there  were  works  of 
divers  nature  and  matter  congested;  as  the  multi- 
tude call  timber-trees  promiscuously  growing,  a  Wood 
or  Forest ;  so  lam  bold  to  entitule  these  lesser  poems 
of  later  growth,  by  this  of  UNDERWOOD,  out  of  the 
analogy  they  hold  to  the  Forest  in  my  former  book, 
and  no  otherwise. 

BEN  JONSON. 


POEMS  OF  DEVOTION. 


THE 


SINNER'S  SACRIFICE 


I. 

To  THE  HOLY  TRINITY. 
I. 

O  HOLY,  blessed,  glorious  Trinity 
Of  persons,  still  one  God  in  Unity. 
The  faithful  man's  believed  mystery, 

Help,  help  to  lift 

Myself  up  to  thee,  harrow'd,  torn,  and  bruised, 
By  sin  and  Satan ;  and  my  flesh  misused, 
As  my  heart  lies  in  pieces,  all  confused, 

O  take  my  gift. 

II. 

All-gracious  God,  the  sinner's  sacrifice, 
A  broken  heart,  thou  wert  not  wont  despise ; 
But  'bove  the  fat  of  rams,  or  bulls  to  prize, 

An  offering  meet, 

For  thy  acceptance  :  O,  behold  me  right, 
And  take  compassion  on  my  grievous  plight  ! 
What  odour  can  be,  than  a  heart  contrite, 

To  thee  more  sweet  ? 


50-3  UNDERWOODS. 


III. 

Eternal  Father,  God,  who  didst  create 
This  all  of  nothing,  gav'st  it  form  and  fate, 
And  hreath'st  into  it  life  and  light,  with  state 

To  worship  thee. 

Eternal  God  the  Son,  who  not  deniedst 
To  take  our  nature  ;  becam'st  man,  and  diedst, 
To  pay  our  debts,  upon  thy  cross,  and  criedst 

ALL'S  DONE  IN  ME.* 

IV. 

Eternal  Spirit,  God  from  both  proceeding, 
Father  and  Son  ;  the  Comforter,  in  breeding 
Pure  thoughts  in  man :    with  fiery  zeal  them 
feeding 

For  acts  of  grace. 

Increase  those  acts,  O  glorious  Trinity 
Of  persons,  still  one  God  in  Unity ; 
Till  I  attain  the  long'd-for  mystery 

Of  seeing  your  face, 

- 
V. 

Beholding  one  in  three,  and  three  in  one, 

A  Trinity,  to  shine  in  Union  ; 

The  gladdest  light  dark  man  can  think  upon ; 

O  grant  it  me  ! 

Father,  and  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  you  three, 
All  co-eternal  in  your  majesty, 
Distinct  in  persons,  yet  in  unity 

One  God  to  see. 

1  All's  done  in  me.]  Alluding  to  the  last  words  of  our  blessed 
Saviour,  upon  the  Cross.  "  It  is  finished." 


UNDERWOODS.  299 


VI. 

My  Maker,  Saviour,  and  my  Sanctifier ! 
To  hear,  to  mediate,  sweeten  my  desire 
With  grace,  with  love,  with  cherishing  entire : 

O,  then  how  blest ! 
Among  thy  saints  elected  to  abide, 
And  with  thy  angels  placed,  side  by  side, 
But  in  thy  presence,  truly  glorified 

Shall  I  there  rest  \ 


II. 

AN   HYMN 
TO  GOD  THE  FATHER. 

Hear  me,  O  God  ! 
A  broken  heart 
Is  my  best  part: 

Use  still  thy  rod, 
That  I  may  prove 
Therein,  thy  love. 

If  thou  hadst  not 
Been  stern  to  me, 
But  left  me  free, 

I  had  forgot 

Myself  and  thee. 

For,  sin's  so  sweet, 
As  minds  ill  bent 
Rarely  repent, 

Until  they  meet 
Their  punishment. 


300  UNDERWOODS. 

Who  more  can  crave 

Than  thou  hast  done  ? 

That  gav'st  a  son 
To  free  a  slave  : 

First  made  of  nought ; 

With  all  since  bought 

Sin,  death,  and  hell 
His  glorious  name 
Quite  overcame ; 

Yet  I  rebel, 

And  slight  the  same. 

But,  I'll  come  in, 
Before  my  loss, 

Me  farther  toss, 

As  sure  to  win 
Under  his  cross. 


III. 

AN    HYMN 
ON  THE  NATIVITY  OF  MY  SAVIOUR. 

I  sing  the  birth  was  born  to-night, 
The  author  both  of  life  and  light ; 

The  angels  so  did  sound  it. 
And  like  the  ravish'd  shepherds  said, 
Who  saw  the  light,  and  were  afraid, 

Yet  search'd,  and  true  they  found  it. 

The  Son  of  God,  the  Eternal  King, 
That  did  us  all  salvation  bring, 

And  freed  the  soul  from  danger ; 


UNDERWOODS.  301 

He  whom  the  whole  world  could  not  take,1 
The  Word,  which  heaven  and  earth  did  make, 

Was  now  laid  in  a  manger. 

The  Father's  wisdom  will'd  it  so, 
The  Son's  obedience  knew  no  No, 

Both  wills  were  in  one  stature  ; 
And  as  that  wisdom  had  decreed, 
The  Word  was  now  made  Flesh  indeed, 

And  took  on  him  our  nature. 

What  comfort  by  him  do  we  win, 
Who  made  himself  the  price  of  sin, 

To  make  us  heirs  of  glory  ! 
To  see  this  Babe,  all  innocence 
A  martyr  born  in  our  defence  ; 

Can  man  forget  this  story? 

*  He  whom  the  whole  world  could  not  take.']    i.  e.  contain,  a 
latinism,  Quern  non  capit. 


A 

CELEBRATION  OF  CHARIS. 

IN  TEN  LYRIC  PIECES. 


CELEBRATION  OF  CHARIS, 


i. 

HlS  EXCUSE  FOR  LOVING. 

Let  it  not  your  wonder  move, 
Less  your  laughter,  that  I  love. 
Though  I  now  write  fifty  years,1 
I  have  had,  and  have  my  peers; 
Poets,  though  divine,  are  men : 
Some  have  loved  as  old  again. 
And  it  is  not  always  face, 
Clothes,  or  fortune,  gives  the  grace; 
Or  the  feature,  or  the  youth : 
But  the  language,  and  the  truth, 

1  Though  I  now  write  Jifty  years.']  This  fixes  the  date  of  this 
little  collection  to  1624,  the  last  year  of  health,  perhaps,  which 
the  poet  ever  enjoyed. 

There  is  a  considerable  degree  of  ease  and  elegance  in  these 
effusions  ;  and,  indeed,  it  may  be  observed  in  general,  of  our 
poet's  lyrics,  that  a  vein  of  sprightliness  and  fancy  runs  through 
them  which  a  reader  of  his  epistles,  &c.  is  scarcely  prepared  to 
expect.  In  the  latter,  Jonson,  like  several  other  poets  of  his 
age,  or  rather  of  his  school,  who  also  succeeded  in  lyrics,  se- 
dulously reins  in  the  imagination,  and  contents  himself  with 
strength  of  sentiment  and  thought,  in  simple  but  vigorous  Ian. 
guage,  and  unambitious  rhyme.  His  CHARTS  has  all  the  vivid 
colouring  of  the  best  ages  of  antiquity  ;  and  it  is  truly  delightful 
to  mark  the  grace  and  ease  with  which  this  great  poet  plays 
with  the  boundless  mass  of  his  literary  acquisitions. 
VOL.  VIII.  X 


306  UNDERWOODS. 

With  the  ardour,  and  the  passion, 
Gives  the  lover  weight  and  fashion. 
If  you  then  will  read  the  story, 
First,  prepare  you  to  be  sorry, 
That  you  never  knew  till  now, 
Either  whom  to  love,  or  how : 
But  be  glad,  as  soon  with  me, 
When  you  know  that  this  is  she, 
Of  whose  beauty  it  was  sung, 
She  shall  make  the  old  man  young, 
Keep  the  middle  age  at  stay, 
And  let  nothing  high  decay  ; 
Till  she  be  the  reason,  why, 
All  the  world  for  love  may  die. 

II. 

HOW  HE  SAW  HER. 

I  beheld  her  on  a  day, 
When  her  look  out-flourish'd  May  : 
And  her  dressing  did  out-brave 
All  the  pride  the  fields  then  have  : 
Far  I  was  from  being  stupid, 
For  I  ran  and  call'd  on  Cupid  ; — 
LOVE,  if  thou  wilt  ever  see 
Mark  of  glory,  come  with  me  ; 
Where's  thy  quiver?  bend  thy  bow  ; 
Here's  a  shaft, — thou  art  too  slow  ! 
And,  withal,  I  did  untie 
Every  cloud  about  his  eye; 
But  he  had  not  gain'd  his  sight 
Sooner  than  he  lost  his  might, 
Or  his  courage ;  for  away 
Straight  he  ran,  and  durst  not  stay, 
Letting  bow  and  arrow  fall : 
Not  for  any  threat,  or  call, 


UNDERWOODS.  507 

Could  be  brought  once  back  to  look. 
I  fool-hardy,  there  up  took 
Both  the  arrow  he  had  quit, 
And  the  bow,  with  thought  to  hit 
This  my  object ;  but  she  threw 
Such  a  lightning,  as  I  drew, 
At  my  face,  that  took  my  sight, 
And  my  motion  from  me  quite  ; 
So  that  there  I  stood  a  stone, 
Mock'd  of  all,  and  call'd  of  one, 
(Which  with  grief  and  wrath  I  heard,) 
Cupid's  statue  with  a  beard ; 
Or  else  one  that  play'd  his  ape, 
In  a  Hercules  his  shape. 

III. 
WHAT  HE  SUFFERED. 

After  many  scorns  like  these, 
Which  the  prouder  beauties  please  ; 
She  content  was  to  restore 
Eyes  and  limbs,  to  hurt  me  more, 
And  would,  on  conditions,  be 
Reconciled  to  Love  and  me. 
First,  that  I  must  kneeling  yield 
Both  the  bow  and  shaft  I  held 
Unto  her ;  which  Love  might  take 
At  her  hand,  with  oaths,  to  make 
Me  the  scope  of  his  next  draft, 
Aimed,  with  that  self-same  shaft* 
He  no  sooner  heard  the  law, 
But  the  arrow  home  did  draw, 
And,  to  gain  her  by  his  art, 
Left  it  sticking  in  my  heart : 
Which  when  she  beheld  to  bleed, 
She  repented  of  the  deed, 
X2 


308  UNDERWOODS. 

And  would  fain  have  chang'd  the  fate, 
But  the  pity  comes  too  late. 
Loser-like,  now,  all  my  wreak 
Is,  that  I  have  leave  to  speak ; 
And  in  either  prose,  or  song, 
To  revenge  me  with  my  tongue  ; 
Which  how  dexterously  I  do, 
Hear,  and  make  example  too. 


IV. 

HER  TRIUMPH. 

See  the  chariot  at  hand  here  of  Love, 

Wherein  my  Lady  rideth  ! 
Each  that  draws  is  a  swan  or  a  dove, 

And  well  the  car  Love  guideth. 
As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty ; 

And  enamour'd,  do  wish,  so  they  might 
But  enjoy  such  a  sight, 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side, 
Through  swords,  through  seas,  whither  she  would 
ride. 

Do  but  look  on  her  eyes,  they  do  light 
All  that  Love's  world  compriseth  ! 

Do  but  look  on  her  hair,  it  is  bright 
As  Love's  star  when  it  riseth  ! 

Do  but  mark,  her  forehead's  smoother 

Than  words  that  sooth  her  : 

And  from  her  arched  brows,  such  a  grace 

Sheds  itself  through  the  face, 

As  alone  there  triumphs  to  the  life 

All  the  gain,  all  the  good  of  the  elements'  strife. 


UNDERWOODS.  309 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow, 
Before  rude  hands  have  touch'd  it? 

Have  you  mark'd  but  the  fall  o'  the  snow 
Before  the  soil  hath  smutch'd  it  ? 

Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  bever  ? 
Or  swan's  down  ever? 

Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  briar? 
Or  the  nard  in  the  fire  ? 

Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 

O  so  white !  O  so  soft !  O  so  sweet  is  she  ! a 


V. 

HlS  DISCOURSE  WITH   CuPID. 

Noblest  CHAR  is,  you  that  are 
Both  my  fortune  and  my  star, 
And  do  govern  more  my  blood, 
Than  the  various  moon  the  flood, 
Hear,  what  late  discourse  of  you, 
LOVE  and  I  have  had ;  and  true. 
Mongst  my  Muses  finding  me, 
Where  he  chanced  your  name  to  see 
Set,  and  to  this  softer  strain  ; 
Sure,  said  he,  if  I  have  brain, 
This,  here  sung,  can  be  no  other, 
By  description,  but  my  mother  ! 
So  hath  Homer  praised  her  hair ; 
So  Anacreon  drawn  the  air 
Of  her  face,  and  made  to  rise 
Just  about  her  sparkling  eyes, 
Both  her  brows  bent  like  my  bow. 
By  her  looks  I  do  her  know, 

*  The  last  two  stanzas  of  the  "  Triumph"  are  gi?en  in  the 
Devirs  an  Ass,  so  that  the  opening  one  alone  can  bear  the  stamp 
of  "  fifty  years." 


510  UNDERWOODS. 

Which  you  call  my  shafts.  And  see  ! 

Such  my  mother's  blushes  be, 

As  the  bath  your  verse  discloses 

In  her  cheeks,  of  milk  and  roses  ; 

Such  as  oft  I  wanton  in : 

And,  above  her  even  chin, 

Have  you  placed  the  bank  of  kisses, 

Where,  you  say,  men  gather  blisses, 

Ripen'd  with  a  breath  more  sweet, 

Than  when  flowers  and  west-winds  meet. 

Nay,  her  white  and  polish'd  neck, 

With  the  lace  that  doth  it  deck, 

Is  my  mother's  :  hearts  of  slain 

Lovers,  made  into  a  chain  ! 

And  between  each  rising  breast, 

Lies  the  valley  call'd  my  nest, 

Where  I  sit  and  proyne  my  wings 

After  flight ;  and  put  new  stings 

To  my  shafts  :  her  very  name 

With  my  mother's  is  the  same. 

I  confess  all,  I  replied, 

And  the  glass  hangs  by  her  side, 

And  the  girdle  'bout  her  waist, 

All  is  Venus,  save  unchaste. 

But  alas,  thou  seest  the  least 

Of  her  good,  who  is  the  best 

Of  her  sex  :  but  couldst  thou,  Love, 

Call  to  mind  the  forms  that  strove 

For  the  apple,  and  those  three 

Make  in  one,  the  same  were  she. 

For  this  beauty  yet  doth  hide 

Something  more  than  thou  hast  spied. 

Outward  grace  weak  love  beguiles  : 

She  is  Venus  when  she  smiles  ; J 

3  She  is  Venus  when  she  smiles,  &c.]  From  Anger ian us  { 

Tres  quondam  nudas  vidit  Priameius  heros 
Luce  deas  ;  video  tres  quoque  luce  dcas : 


UNDERWOODS.  311 

But  she's  Juno,  when  she  walks, 
And  Minerva  when  she  talks. 

VI. 
CLAIMING  A  SECOND  KISS  BY  DESERT. 

CHARIS,  guess,  and  do  not  miss, 
Since  I  drew  a  morning  kiss 
From  your  lips,  and  suck'd  an  air 
Thence,  as  sweet  as  you  are  fair, 
What  my  Muse  and  I  have  done : 

Whether  we  have  lost  or  won, 
If  by  us  the  odds  were  laid, 
That  the  bride,  allow'd  a  maid, 
Look'd  not  half  so  fresh  and  fair, 
With  the  advantage  of  her  hair, 
And  her  jewels  to  the  view 
Of  the  assembly,  as  did  you ! 

Hoc  majus,  tres  uno  in  corpore  ;  Ccelia  ridens 
Est  VenuS)  incedens  Juno,  Minerva  loquens. 

This  quotation  (says  Dr.  Farmer)  recalls  to  my  memory  a 
very  extraordinary  fact.  A  few  years  ago,  at  a  great  court  on 
the  continent,  a  countryman  of  ours  (sir  Charles  Hanbnry  Wil- 
liams) exhibited  with  many  other  candidates  his  complimental 
epigram  on  the  birth-day,  and  carried  the  prize  in  triumph  : 

O  Regina  orbis  prima  et  pulckerrima :  ridens 
Es  Venus,  incedens  Juno,  Minerva  loquens. 

The  compliment  has  since  passed  through  other  hands,  and  was, 
not  long  ago,  applied  to  one  who  had  as  little  of  Venus  and 
Juno  in  her,  as  her  panegyrist  had  of  originality.  Minerva  had 
nothing  to  do  with  either. 

*  With  the  advantage  of  her  hair.~\  Brides,  in  Jonson's  days, 
were  always  led  to  the  altar,  with  their  hair  hanging  down.  To 
this  he  alludes  in  several  of  his  masques ;  and  H.  Peacham,  in 
describing  the  marriage  of  the  princess  Elizabeth  with  the 
Palsgrave,  says  that  "  the  bride  came  into  the  chapell  with  a 
coronet  of  pearle  on  her  head,  and  her  haire  disheveled,  and 
hanging  down  over  her  shoulders." 


312  UNDERWOODS. 

Or  that  did  you  sit  or  walk, 
You  were  more  the  eye  and  talk 
Of  the  court,  to-day,  than  all 
Else  that  glister'd  in  Whitehall ; 
So,  as  those  that  had  your  sight, 
Wish'd  the  bride  were  chang'd  to-night, 
And  did  think  such  rites  were  due 
To  no  other  Grace  but  you  ! 

Or,  if  you  did  move  to-night 
In  the  dances,  with  what  spite 
Of  your  peers  you  were  beheld, 
That  at  every  motion  swell'd 
So  to  see  a  lady  tread, 
As  might  all  the  Graces  lead, 
And  was  worthy,  being  so  seen, 
To  be  envied  of  the  queen. 

Or  if  you  would  yet  have  staid, 
Whether  any  would  upbraid 
To  himself  his  loss  of  time; 
Or  have  charg'd  his  sight  of  crime, 
To  have  left  all  sight  for  you. 
Guess  of  these  which  is  the  true  ; 
And,  if  such  a  verse  as  this, 
May  not  claim  another  kiss. 


VII. 

BEGGING  ANOTHER, 
ON  COLOUR  OF  MENDING  THE  FORMER. 

For  Love's  sake,  kiss  me  once  again, 
I  long,  and  should  not  beg  in  vain. 
Here's  none  to  spy,  or  see  ; 

Why  do  you  doubt  or  stay  ? 
I'll  taste  as  lightly  as  the  bee, 
That  doth  but  touch  his  flower,  and  flies  away. 


UNDERWOODS.  313 

Once  more,  and,  faith,  I  will  be  gone, 
Can  he  that  loves  ask  less  than  one  ? 
Nay,  you  may  err  in  this, 

And  all  your  bounty  wrong  : 
This  could  be  call'd  but  half  a  kiss  ; 
What  we're  but  once  to  do,  we  should  do  long. 

I  will  but  mend  the  last,  and  tell 
Where,  how,  it  would  have  relish'd  well ; 
Join  lip  to  lip,  and  try  : 

Each  suck  the  others  breath, 
And  whilst  our  tongues  perplexed  lie, 
Let  who  will  think  us  dead,  or  wish  our  death. 

VIII. 
URGING  HER  OF  A  PROMISE. 

CHARIS  one  day  in  discourse 
Had  of  Love,  and  of  his  force, 
Lightly  promis'd  she  would  tell 
What  a  man  she  could  love  well  : 
And  that  promise  set  on  fire 
All  that  heard  her  with  desire. 
With  the  rest,  I  long  expected 
When  the  work  would  be  effected  ; 
But  we  find  that  cold  delay, 
And  excuse  spun  every  day, 
As,  until  she  tell  her  one, 
We  all  fear,  she  loveth  none. 
Therefore,  Charis,  you  must  do't, 
For  I  will  so  urge  you  to't, 
You  shall  neither  eat  nor  sleep, 
No,  nor  forth  your  window  peep, 
With  your  emissary  eye,* 
To  fetch  in  the  forms  go  by, 

5  With  your  emissary  eye.]  Oculis  emissitiis.  Plautus.  WHAL, 


314  UNDERWOODS. 

And  pronounce,  which  band  or  lace 

Better  fits  him  than  his  face : 

Nay,  I  will  not  let  you  sit 

'Fore  your  idol  glass  a  whit, 

To  say  over  every  purl ' 

There ;  or  to  reform  a  curl ; 

Or  with  secretary  Cis 

To  consult,  if  fucus  this 

Be  as  good,  as,  was  the  last : — 

All  your  sweet  of  life  is  past, 

Make  account,  unless  you  can, 

And  that  quickly,  speak  your  Man. 

IX. 

HER  MAN  DESCRIBED  BY 
HER  OWN  DICTAMEN. 

Of  your  trouble,  BEN,  to  ease  me, 
I  will  tell  what  Man  would  please  me. 
I  would  have  him,  if  I  could, 
Noble ;  or  of  greater  blood ; 
Titles,  I  confess,  do  take  me, 
And  a  woman  God  did  make  me ; 
French  to  boot,  at  least  in  fashion, 
And  his  manners  of  that  nation. 

Young  I'd  have  him  too,  and  fair, 
Yet  a  man  ;  with  crisped  hair, 
Cast  in  thousand  snares  and  rings, 
For  love's  fingers,  and  his  wings  : 
Chestnut  colour,  or  more  slack, 
Gold,  upon  a  ground  of  black. 

6  To  say  over  every'  purl.~\  i.  e.  to  try.  Purl,  I  believe,  is 
wire  whipt  with  cotton  or  silk,  for  puffing  out  fringe,  lace, 
hair,  &c.  In  some  places  it  seems  to  mean  the  fringe  ^itself : 
the  old  word  is  purrel. 


UNDERWOODS.  315 

Venus  and  Minerva's  eyes, 
For  he  must  look  wanton-wise. 

Eyebrows  bent,  like.Cupid's  bow, 
Front,  an  ample  field  of  snow  ; 
Even  nose,  and  cheek  withal, 
Smooth  as  is  the  billiard-ball : 
Chin  as  woolly  as  the  peach ; 
And  his  lip  should  kissing  teach, 
Till  he  cherish'd  too  much  beard, 
And  made  Love  or  me  afeard. 

He  should  have  a  hand  as  soft 
As  the  down,  and  shew  it  oft ; 
Skin  as  smooth  as  any  rush, 
And  so  thin  to  see  a  blush 
Rising  through  it,  ere  it  came  ; 
All  his  blood  should  be  a  flame, 
Quickly  fired,  as  in  beginners 
In  love's  school,  and  yet  no  sinners. 

'Twere  too  long  to  speak  of  all  : 
What  we  harmony  do  call, 
In  a  body,  should  be  there. 
Well  he  should  his  clothes,  too,  wear, 
Yet  no  tailor  help  to  make  him; 
Drest,  you  still  for  man  should  take  him, 
And  not  think  he'd  eat  a  stake, 
Or  were  set  up  in  a  brake/ 

Valiant  he  should  be  as  fire, 
Shewing  danger  more  than  ire. 
Bounteous  as  the  clouds  to  earth, 
And  as  honest  as  his  birth  ; 
All  his  actions  to  be  such, 
As  to  do  no  thing  too  much  : 

7  Or  were  set  up  in  a  brake.]  The  inclosure  used  by  black- 
smiths and  farriers,  in  which  they  put  vicious  and  untractablr 
horses,  which  they  cannot  dress  or  shoe  without  that  assistance, 
is  commonly  called  a  smith's  brake.  WHAL. 

But  see  Tol.  in.  p.  462. 


316  UNDERWOODS. 

Nor  o'er-praise,  nor  yet  condemn, 
Nor  out-value,  nor  contemn  ; 
Nor  do  wrongs,  nor  wrongs  receive, 
Nor  tie  knots,  nor  knots  unweave  ; 
And  from  baseness  to  be  free, 
As  he  durst  love  truth  and  me. 
Such  a  man,  with  every  part, 
I  could  give  my  very  heart; 
But  of  one  if  short  he  came, 
I  can  rest  me  where  I  am.8 

X. 

ANOTHER  LADY'S  EXCEPTION, 
PRESENT  AT  THE  HEARING. 

For  his  mind  I  do  not  care, 

That's  a  toy  that  I  could  spare : 

Let  his  title  be  but  great, 

His  clothes  rich,  and  band  sit  neat, 

Himself  young,  and  face  be  good, 

All  I  wish  is  understood. 

What  you  please,  you  parts  may  call, 

'Tis  one  good  part  I'd  lie  withal. 

8  This  lively,  gallant,  and  graceful  description  is  above  all 
praise.  Anacreon  is  not  more  gay,  nor  Catullus  more  elegant, 
nor  Horace  more  courtly,  than  this  poet,  -who  is  taken  on  the 
faith  of  the  Shakspeare  commentators,  for  a  mere  compound  of 
Jul ness  and  spleen. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.* 


i. 

THE  MUSICAL  STRIFE. 
A  PASTORAL  DIALOGUE. 

She.  Come,  with  our  voices,  let  us  war, 

And  challenge  all  the  spheres, 
Till  each  of  us  be  made  a  star, 
And  all  the  world  turn  ears. 

He.  At  such  a  call,  what  beast  or  fowl, 

Of  reason  empty  is  ? 
What  tree  or  stone  doth  want  a  soul, 
What  man  but  must  lose  his  ? 

She.  Mix  then  your  notes,  that  we  may  prove 

To  stay  the  running  floods ; 
To  make  the  mountain  quarries  move, 
And  call  the  walking  woods. 

*  I  have  little  to  add  to  what  is  already  said,  (p.  292,)  ex- 
cept  that  many  allowances  must  bu  made  for  what  follows.  Few 
of  these  poems  are  dated,  and  fewer  still  bear  titles  explanatory 
of  their  subject.  I  hare  availed  myself  of  such  collateral  helps 
as  I  could  any  where  find  ;  but  much  is  necessarily  left  to  the 
reader's  own  sagacity.  The  original  text,  which  is  grossly  in* 
correct,  has  however  been  revised  with  great  care. 


318  UNDERWOODS. 

He.   What  need  of  me  ?  do  you  but  sing, 

Sleep,  and  the  grave  will  wake : 
No  tunes  are  sweet,  nor  words  have  sting, 
But  what  those  lips  do  make. 

She.  They  say,  the  angels  mark  each  deed, 

And  exercise  below ; 
And  out  of  inward  pleasure  feed 
On  what  they  viewing  know. 

He.  O  sing  not  you  then,  lest  the  best 

Of  angels  should  be  driven 
To  fall  again,  at  such  a  feast, 
Mistaking  earth  for  heaven. 

She.  Nay,  rather  both  our  souls  be  strain'd 

To  meet  their  high  desire  ; 
So  they  in  state  of  grace  retain'd, 
May  wish  us  of  their  quire. 


II. 
A   SONG. 

Oh  do  not  wanton  with  those  eyes, 
Lest  I  be  sick  with  seeing; 

Nor  cast  them  down,  but  let  them  rise, 
Lest  shame  destroy  their  being. 

O  be  not  angry  with  those  fires, 
For  then  their  threats  will  kill  me ; 

Nor  look  too  kind  on  my  desires, 
For  then  my  hopes  will  spill  me. 


UNDERWOODS.  319 

O  do  not  steep  them  in  thy  tears, 

For  so  will  sorrow  slay  me ; 
Nor  spread  them  as  distract  with  fears; 

Mine  own  enough  betray  me.' 


III. 

IN  THE  PERSON  OF  WOMANKIND. 
A  SONG  APOLOGETIC. 

Men,  if  you  love  us,  play  no  more 

The  fools  or  tyrants  with  your  friends, 
To  make  us  still  sing  o'er  and  o'er, 
Our  own  false  praises,  for  your  ends  : 
We  have  both  wits  and  fancies  too, 
And  if  we  must,  let's  sing  of  you. 

Nor  do  we  doubt,  but  that  we  can, 

If  we  would  search  with  care  and  pain, 
Find  some  one  good,  in  some  one  man ; 
So  going  thorough  all  your  strain, 
We  shall  at  last,  of  parcels  make 
One  good  enough  for  a  song's  sake. 


8  Mine  own  enough  betray  me."]  How  is  it  that  this  song  is 
never  mentioned  by  the  critics  ?  Simply,  I  believe,  because  they 
never  read  it.  Two  or  three  of  Jonson's  lyrics  are  noticed  by 
the  earlier  compilers  of  our  Anthologies,  and  these  hare  been 
copied  and  re-copied  a  thousand  times.  Hence  the  Aikins  et 
id  genus  omne  form  their  opinion  of  the  poet,  and  groan  over 
his  "  tedious  effusions/'  With  respect  to  the  present,  if  it 
be  not  the  most  beautiful  song  in  the  language,  I  freely  confess, 
for  my  own  part,  that  I  know  not  where  it  is  to  be  found. 


320  UNDERWOODS. 

And  as  a  cunning  painter  takes 
In  any  curious  piece  you  see, 
More  pleasure  while  the  thing  he  makes, 
Than  when  'tis  made  ;  why,  so  will  we. 
And  having  pleas'd  our  art,  we'll  try 
To  make  a  new,  and  hang  that  by. 


IV. 

ANOTHER, 
IN  DEFENCE  OF  THEIR  INCONSTANCY 

Hang  up  those  dull  and  envious  fools 

That  talk  abroad  of  woman's  change. 
We  were  not  bred  to  sit  on  stools, 
Our  proper  virtue  is  to  range : 
Take  that  away,  you  take  our  lives, 
We  are  no  women  then,  but  wives. 

Such  as  in  valour  would  excel, 

Do  change,  though  men,,  and  often  fight, 
Which  we  in  love  must  do  as  well, 
If  ever  we  will  love  aright : 
The  frequent  varying  of  the  deed, 
Is  that  which  doth  perfection  breed. 

Nor  is't  inconstancy  to  change 

For  what  is  better,  or  to  make, 
By  searching,  what  before  was  strange, 
Familiar,  for  the  uses  sake : 

The  good  from  bad  is  not  descried, 
But  as  'tis  often  vext  and  tried. 


UNDERWOODS.  321 

And  this  profession  of  a  store 

In  love,  doth  not  alone  help  forth 
Our  pleasure  ;  but  preserves  us  more 
From  being  forsaken,  than  doth  worth  : 
For  were  the  worthiest- woman  curst 
To  love  one  man,  he'd  leave  her  first. 

V. 

A  NYMPH'S  PASSION. 

I  love,  and  he  loves  me  again, 

Yet  dare  I  not  tell  who  ; 
For  if  the  nymphs  should  know  my  swain, 
I  fear  they'd  love  him  too; 
Yet  if  he  be  not  known, 
The  pleasure  is  as  good  as  none, 
For  that's  a  narrow  joy  is  but  our  own. 

I'll  tell,  that  if  they  be  not  glad, 

They  yet  may  envy  me ; 
But  then  if  I  grow  jealous  mad, 
And  of  them  pitied  be, 

It  were  a  plague  'bove  scorn  : 

And  yet  it  cannot  be  forborn, 

Unless  my  heart  would,  as  my  thought,  be  torn. 

He  is,  if  they  can  find  him,  fair, 

And  fresh  and  fragrant  too, 
As  summer's  sky,  or  purged  air, 
And  looks  as  lilies  do 
That  are  this  morning  blown ; 
Yet,  yet  I  doubt  he  is  not  known, 
And  fear  much  more,  that  more  of  him  be  shown. 

But  he  hath  eyes  so  round,  and  bright, 
As  make  away  my  doubt, 

VOL.  VIII.  Y 


322 

Where  Love  may  all  his  torches  lig  ht 
Though  hate  had  put  them  out : 
But  then,  t'  increase  my  fears, 
What  nymph  soe'er  his  voice  but  hears, 
Will  be  my  rival,  though  she  have  but  ears. 

I'll  tell  no  more,  and  yet  I  love, 

And  he  loves  me  ;  yet  no 
One  unbecoming  thought  doth  move 
From  either  heart,  1  know; 
But  so  exempt  from  blame, 
As  it  would  be  to  each  a  fame, 
If  love  or  fear  would  let  me  tell  his  name. 

VI. 

THE  HOUR-GLASS.* 

Consider  this  small  dust,  here,  in  the  glass, 

By  atoms  mov'd  : 
Could  you  believe,  that  this  the  body  was 

Of  one  that  lov'd  ; 

9  The  Hour-glass.]  In  two  small  editions  containing  part  of  our 
author's  poems,  printed  in  1640,  the  title  of  this  epigram  is,  On 
tt  Gentlewoman  -working  by  an  Hour-glass.  The  verses  are  like- 
wise of  a  different  measure,  and  I  think  more  agreeable  to  the 
ear :  I  shall  give  the  whole  as  it  stands  in  those  copies,  and 
afterwards  subjoin  the  original,  of  which  the  English  is  only  a 
translation. 

ON  A  GENTLEWOMAN 

WORKING  BY  AN  HOUR-GLASS. 

'*  Do  but  consider  this  small  dust, 
Here  running  in  the  glass, 

By  atoms  mov'd ; 

Would  you  believe  that  it  the  body  was 
Of  one  that  lov'd  ? 

And  in  his  mistress'  Barnes  playing  like  a  flie, 
Was  turned  into  cinders  by  her  eye  ? 
Yes ;  as  in  life,  so  in  their  deaths  unblest, 
A  lover's  ashes  never  can  find  rest.''  WHAL. 


UNDERWOODS.  323 

And  in  his  mistress'  flame,  playing  like  a  fly, 
Was  turn'd  to  cinders  by  her  eye : 

It  matters  littlp  which  we  take  :  the  version  in  Drummond's 
folio  is  the  worst,  but  all  are  imperfect.  I  have  made  a  trifling 
change  or  two  in  the  arrangement;  for  as  the  lines  stood  be- 
fore, some  of  them  had  no  correspondent  rhymes.  The  whole, 
as  Whalley  observes,  is  from  the  Latin  of  Jerom  Amaltheus, 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  and  elegant  of  the  modern  Italian 
poets. 

HOROLOGIUM  PULVEREUM,   TuMULUS  ALCIPPI. 

Perspicuo  in  vitro  pulvis  qui  dividit  horas, 
Dum  vagus  angustum  scepe  recurrit  tier, 

Olim  erat  Alcippus,  qui  Gallce  ut  vidit  ocellosy 
Arsity  et  est  ctzcofactus  ab  igne  cinis. 

Irrequiete  cinis,  miseros  testabere  amantes 
More  tuo  nulla  posse  quietefrui. 

IOLJE  TUMULUS. 
Horantm  in  vitro  pulvis  nunc  mensort  lolee 

Sunt  cinercs,  urnam  condidit  acer  amor  ; 
Ut,  si  quce  extincto  remanent  in  amorefavilla, 

Nee  jam  tutus  cat,  nee  requietus  amet. 

It  appears  that  this  little  translation  was  made  by  Jonson, 
at  the  request  of  his  "  friend"  Drummond,  on  his  auspicious  visit 
to  that  mirror  of  sincerity  and  hospitality.  In  Drummond's 
folio  it  is  prefaced  with  an  address  so  respectful,  so  cordial  and 
affectionate,  as  to  raise  a  doubt  whether  the  perversity  was  in 
the  head  or  the  heart  of  the  man,  who  could  withdraw,  upon 
receiving  it,  to  his  closet,  and  deliberately  commit  to  his  note- 
book a  series  of  base  and  venomous  accusations  against  the 
moral  and  religious  character  of  his  unsuspecting  guest. 

"  To  the  Honouring  Respect 

Born 

To  the  Friendship  contracted  with 

The  Right  Virtuous  and  Learned 

MASTER  WILLIAM  DUUMMOND, 

And  the  Perpetuating  the  same  by  all  Offices  of  Love 

Hereafter, 
I  Benjamin  Jonson, 

Whom  he  hath  honoured  with  the  leave  to  be  called  his, 
Have  with  my  own  hand,  to  satisfy  his  Request, 

Written  this  imperfect  Song, 
On  a  Lover's  Dust,  made  sand  for  an  Hour-glass.'' 


324  UNDERWOODS. 

Yes  ;  and  in  death,  as  life  unblest. 

To  have  't  exprest, 
Ev'n  ashes  of  lovers  find  no  rest. 


VII. 

MY  PICTURE, 
LEFT  IN  SCOTLAND. 

I  now  think,  Love  is  rather  deaf  than  blind, 
For  else  it  could  not  be, 
That  she, 

Whom  I  adore  so  much,  should  so  slight  me, 
And  cast  my  suit  behind  : 
I'm  sure  my  language  to  her  was  as  sweet, 
And  every  close  did  meet 
In  sentence  of  as  subtle  feet, 
As  hath  the  youngest  he, 
That  sits  in  shadow  of  Apollo's  tree. 

Oh  !  but  my  conscious  fears, 

That  fly  my  thoughts  between, 
Tell  me  that  she  hath  seen 
My  hundreds  of  gray  hairs, 

Told  seven  and  forty  years, 
Read  so  much  waste,  as  she  cannot  embrace 
My  mountain  belly,  and  my  rocky  face, 
And  all  these,  through  her  eyes,  have  stopt  her 
ears. 

The  verses  then  follow,  miserably  printed,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed ;  after  which  Jonson,  with  the  same  warmth  of  heart 
subjoins  :  "  Yet  that  love,  when  it  is  at  full,  may  admit  heaping, 
receive  another  ;  and  this  a  Picture  of  myself.''  It  would  seem, 
from  the  above,  that  Drummond  kept  a  kind  of  Album,  in  which 
he  had  desired  our  author  to  insert  something  in  his  own 
writing.  The  second  piece  is  No.  VII. 


UNDERWOODS.  325 

VIII. 
AGAINST  JEALOUSY. 

Wretched  and  foolish  jealousy, 
How  cam'st  thou  thus  to  enter  me? 

I  ne'er  was  of  thy  kind ; 
Nor  have  I  yet  the  narrow  mind 

To  vent  that  poor  desire, 
That  others  should  not  warm  them  at  my  fire : 

I  wish  the  sun  should  shine 
On  all  men's  fruits  and  flowers,  as  well  as  mine. 

But  under  the  disguise  of  love, 

Thou  say'st,  thou  only  cam'st  to  prove 

What  my  affections  were. 
Think'st  thou  that  love  is  help'd  by  fear  ? 

Go,  get  thee  quickly  forth, 
Love's  sickness,  and  his  noted  want  of  worth, 

Seek  doubting  men  to  please, 
I  ne'er  will  owe  my  health  to  a  disease, 

IX. 
THE  DREAM. 

Or  scorn,  or  pity,  on  me  take, 
I  must  the  true  relation  make, 

I  am  undone  to-night : 
Love  in  a  subtle  dream  disguised, 

Hath  both  my  heart  and  me  surprised, 
Whom  never  yet  he  durst  attempt  awake; 
Nor  will  he  tell  me  for  whose  sake 
He  did  me  the  delight, 
Or  spight; 
But  leaves  me  to  inquire, 

Sin  all  my  wild  desire, 
Of  Sleep  again,  who  was  his  aid, 
And  Sleep  so  guilty  and  afraid, 
As  since  he  dares  not  come  within  my  sight. 


UNDERWOODS. 

X. 

AN  EPITAPH 
ON  MASTER  VINCENT  CORBET.* 

I  have  my  piety  too,  which,  could 
It  vent  itself  but  as  it  would, 
Would  say  as  much  as  both  have  done 
Before  me  here,  the  friend  and  son  : 
For  I  both  lost  a  friend  and  father, 
Of  him  whose  bones  this  grave  doth  gather, 
Dear  VINCENT  CORBET^  whoso  long- 
Had  M'restled  with  diseases  strong, 
That  though  they  did  possess  each  limb, 
Yet  he  broke  them,  ere  they  could  him, 

1  An  epitaph  on  master  Vincent  Corbet.]  He  was  the  father 
of  bishop  Corbet,  and  lived  at  Twickenham,  where  he  followed 
the  business  of  a  gardener,  and  was  famous  for  his  nurseries  and 
plantations  of  trees.  We  find  an  allusion  both  to  the  genius  of 
his  son,  and  his  own  eminence  in  his  trade,  in  the  following 
verses.  WHAL. 

This  beautiful  epitaph,  as  it  is  justly  termed  by  Mr.  Gilchrist, 
in  his  late  edition  of  the  Bishop's  poems,  was  written  in  1619, 
the  year  in  which  this  good  old  man  died.  It  seems  intended  as 
a  kind  of  sequel  to  his  son's  elegy,  which  is  simple  and  affecting, 
though  occasionally  tinctured  with  the  peculiar  humour  of  the 
writer,  while  Ben's  poem  is  solemn,  affectionate,  and  pathetic 
throughout.  Who  the  "  friend"  was  that  preceded  our  poet  in 
his  tribute  of  regard  to  the  worth  of  Vincent  Corbet,  I  know 
not:  so  excellent  a  character  found  many,  perhaps,  to  weep 
upon  his  grave. 

*  Who  so  long 
Had  struggled,  &c.]  Thus  his  son  : 

"  Years  he  liv'd  well  mghfourscore, 
But  count  his  virluws,  he  liv'd  more  : 
And  number  him  by  doing  good, 
He  liv'd  their  age  beyond  the  flood." 


UNDERWOODS.  327 

With  the  just  canon  of  his  life, 
A  life  that  knew  nor  noise,  nor  strife ; 
But  was,  by  sweetning  so  his  will, 
All  order  and  disposure  still. 

His  mind  as  pure,  and  neatly  kept, 
As  were  his  nurseries,  and  swept 
So  of  uncleanness,  or  offence, 
That  never  came  ill  odour  thence  ! 
And  add  his  actions  unto  these, 
They  were  as  specious  as  his  trees. 
'Tis  true,  he  could  not  reprehend — 
His  very  manners  taught  t'  amend, 
They  were  so  even,  grave  and  holy  ; 
No  stubbornness  so  stiff,  nor  folly 
To  license  ever  was  so  light, 
As  twice  to  trespass  in  his  sight : 
His  looks  would  so  correct  it,  when 
It  chid  the  vice,  yet  not  the  men. 
Much  from  him,  I  profess  I  won, 
And  more,  and  more,  I  should  have  done, 
But  that  I  understood  him  scant, 
Now  I  conceive  him  by  my  want; 
And  pray  who  shall  my  sorrows  read, 
That  they  for  me  their  tears  will  shed; 
For  truly,  since  he  left  to  be, 
I  feel,  I'm  rather  dead  than  he ! 

Reader,  whose  life  and  name  did  e'er  become 

An  Epitaph,  deserv'd  a  Tomb : 
Nor  wants  it  here  through  penury  or  sloth, 

Who  makes  the  one,  so  it  be  first,  makes  both. 


328  UNDERWOODS. 

XL* 

ON  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 
To  THE  READER. 

This  figure  that  thou  here  seest  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  SHAKSPEARE  cut, 
Wherein  the  graver  had  a  strife 
With  nature,  to  out-do  the  life  : 
O  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass,  as  he  has  hit 
His  face  ;  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass  : 
But  since  he  cannot,  reader,  look 
Not  on  his  picture,  but  his  book.* 

*  I  hare  thought  it  best  to  interrupt  the  arrangement  of  the 
old  folio,  in  this  place,  for  the  sake  of  inserting  such  scattered 
pieces  of  Jonson,  as  have  not  hitherto  found  a  place  in  his 
works,  together  with  such  as  Whalley  had  improperly  subjoined 
to  his  Epigrams,  which  being  published  under  the  author's  own 
care,  should  naturally  terminate  where  he  chose  to  stop  short 
himself. 

*  These  verses  are  printed  with  Jonson's  name  under  the 
portrait  of  Shakspeare,  prefixed  as  a  frontispiece  to  the  first 
edition  of  his  works  in  folio,  1623. 

"  This  print  (engraved  by  Martin  Droeshout)  gives  us  a 
truer  representation  of  Shakespeare,  than  several  more  pompous 
memorials  of  him ;  if  the  testimony  of  Ben  Jonson  may  be 
credited,  to  whom  he  was  personally  known.  Unless  we  sup- 
pose that  poet  to  have  sacrificed  his  veracity  to  the  turn  of 
thought  in  his  epigram,  which  is  very  improbable,  as  he  might 
have  been  easily  contradicted  by  several  that  must  have  remem- 
bered so  celebrated  a  person." 

Granger's  Biog.  Hist  of  Eng.  8vo.  1775,  vol.  ii.  p.  6. 


UNDERWOODS.  329 


XII. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  BELOVED 

MASTER  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE, 

AND  WHAT  HE    HATH  LEFT  US. 

To  draw  no  envy,  SHAKSPEARE,  on  thy  name, 
Am  I  thus  ample  to  thy  book  and  fame ; 
While  I  confess  thy  writings  to  be  such, 
As  neither  man,  nor  Muse,  can  praise  too  much. 
Tis  true,  and  all  men's  suffrage.  But  these  ways 
Were  not  the  paths  I  meant  unto  thy  praise ; 
For  silliest  ignorance  on  these  may  light, 
Which,  when  it  sounds  at  best,  but  echoes  right ; 
Or  blind  affection,  which  doth  ne'er  advance 
The  truth,  but  gropes,  and  urgeth  all  by  chance  ; 
Or  crafty  malice  might  pretend  this  praise, 
And  think  to  ruin,  where  it  seem'd  to  raise. 
These  are,  as  some  infamous  bawd,  or  whore, 
Should  praise  a  matron ;    what  could  hurt  her 

more? 

Butthou  art  proof  against  them,  and,  indeed, 
Above  the  ill  fortune  of  them,  or  the  need. 
I  therefore  will  begin  :  Soul  of  the  age ! 
The  applause!  delight!  the  wonder  of  our  stage! 
My  SHAKSPEARE  rise  !  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further  off,  to  make  thee  room  :* 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb, 

4  My  Shakspeare  rise  ;  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 

Chaucer^  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 

A  little  further  off,  to  make  thee  room.]  These  verses  allude 
to  an  Elegy  on  Shakspearc,  written  by  W.  Basse,  which  is 
here  subjoined : 

"  Renowned  Spenser,  lie  a  thought  more  nigh 
To  learned  Chaucer ;  and,  rare  Beaumont,  lie 


330  UNDERWOODS. 

And  art  alive  still,  while  thy  book  doth  live 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 
That  I  not  mix  thee  so,  my  brain  excuses, 
I  mean  with  great,  but  disproportion^  Muses  : 
For  if  I  thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 
I  should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers, 
And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lily  outshine,* 
Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlow's  mighty  line. 


A  little  nearer  Spenser,  to  make  room 

For  Shakespear  in  your  threefold,  fourfold  tomb. 

To  lodge  all  four  in  one  bed  make  a  shift, 

For,  until  doomsday  hardly  will  a  fifth, 

Betwixt  this  day  and  that,  by  fates  be  slain, 

For  whom  your  curtains  need  be  drawn  again. 

But  if  precedency  in  death  doth  bar 

A  fourth  place  in  your  sacred  sepulchre, 

Under  this  sable   marble  of  thine  own, 

Sleep,  rare  tragedian,  Shakespeare,  sleep  alone  : 

Thy  unmolested  peace,  in  an  unshared  care, 

Possess  as  lord,  not  tenant  of  thy  grave. 

That  unto  us,  and  others,  it  may  be 

Honour  hereafter  to  be  laid  by  thee.''       WHAL. 

5  And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lily  outshine^ 

Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marloto's  mighty  line^]  These  were  in 
possession  of  the  theatre  when  Shakspeare  first  appeared,  and 
enjoyed  a  high  degree  of  popularity.  Of  Kyd  little  is  known, 
except  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  Spanish  Tragedy  ;  though 
he  must  undoubtedly  have  had  many  other  pieces  on  the  stage. 
Lily  was  a  pedantic  and  affected  writer,  with  considerable 
talents,  not  indeed  for  the  drama,  but  for  the  rude,  verbose 
romance  of  those  days,  and  which  had  a  striking  influence  not 
only  on  our  colloquial,  but  written  language. 

Marlow's  mighty  line  is  not  introduced  at  random.  Marlow 
has  many  lines  which  have  not  hitherto  been  surpassed.  His 
two  parts  of  Tamburlaine^  though  simple  in  plot  and  naked  in 
artifice,  have  yet  some  rude  attempts  at  consistency  of  cha- 
racter, and  many  passages  of  masculine  vigour  and  lofty  poetry. 
Even  the  bombast  lines  which  Shakspeare  has  put  into  the 
mouth  of  Pistol,  are  followed  by  others,  in  the  same  scene,  and 
even  in  the  same  speech,  which  the  great  poet  himself  might 
have  fathered  without  disgrace  to  his  superior  powers. 


UNDERWOODS.  331 

And   though  thou  hadst   small  Latin  and    less 

Greek, 

From  thence  to  honour  thee,  I  will  not  seek 
For  names :  but  call  forth  thund'ring  Eschylus, 
Euripides,  and  Sophocles  to  us, 
Pacuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordoua  dead, 
To  live  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread, 
And  shake  a  stage :  or  when  thy  socks  were  on, 
Leave  thee  alone  for  the  comparison 
Of  all,  that  insolent  Greece,  or  haughty  Rome 
Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 
Triumph,  my  Britain,  thou  hast  one  to  show, 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 
He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  ! 
And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 

Marlow  had  the  sublimity  of  Milton,  without  the  taste  and 
inspiration.  It  is  not  just  to  consign  him  to  ridicule.  lie  and 
his  contemporary  Peele,  were  produced  just  as  the  chaos  of 
ignorance  was  breaking  up  :  they  were  among  the  earliest  to 
perceive  the  glimmering  of  sense  and  nature,  and  struggled  to 
reach  the  light. 

Marlow's  end,  like  his  career,  was  miserable.  He  fell  (see 
vol.  i.  p.  104)  in  a  brothel  squabble  ;  and  the  doating  Aubrey, 
who  implicitly  swallows  every  idle  story,  and  confounds  every 
true  one,  tells  us  that  he  was  killed  by  Ben  Jonson ! 

Our  author's  attachment  to  Marlow  was  not  unknown,  nor 
were  his  praises  of  him  singular.  He,  (Cris.  Marlow,)  says  a 
writer  of  the  last  century,  wrote  besides  plays,  a  poem  called 
Hero  and  Leander,  of  whose  (<  mighty  lin«s"  master  Jonson,  a 
man  sensible  enough  of  his  own  abilities,  was  often  heard  to 
say,  that  they  were  examples  fitter  for  admiration  than  parallel." 
What!  the  "  envious"  Ben  ?  Impossible. 

Drayton  thus  characterises  him : 

**  Next  Marlow,  bathed  in  the  Thespian  springs, 
Had  in  him  those  brave  translunary  things 
That  the  first  poets  had  :  his  raptures  were 
All  air  and  fire,  which  made  his  verses  clear; 
For  that  fine  madness  he  did  still  retain, 
Which  rightly  should  possess  a  poet's  brain.'' 


332  U  NDERWOODS. 

When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth  to  warm 

Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm ! 

Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 

And  joy'd  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines  ! 

Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 

As,  since,  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 

Neat  Terence,  witty  Plautus,  now  not  please  ; 

But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 

As  they  were  not  of  nature's  family. 

Yet  must  I  not  give  nature  all ;  thy  art, 

My  gentle  Shakspeare,5  must  enjoy  a  part. 

For  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be, 

His  art  doth  give  the  fashion :  and,  that  he 

Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  sweat, 

(Such  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  heat 

Upon  the  Muses  anvil ;  turn  the  same, 

And  himself  with  it,  that  he  thinks  to  frame ; 

Or  for  the  laurel,  he  may  gain  a  scorn  ; 

For  a  good  poet's  made,  as  well  as  born. 

And  such  wert  thou  !  Look  how  the  father's  face 

Lives  in  his  issue,  even  so  the  race 

Of  Shakspeare's   mind    and    manners    brightly 

shines 

In  his  well  torned,  and  true  filed  lines : 
In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a  lance, 
As  brandish'd  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance. 


*  My  gentle  Shakspeare.]  The  uncommon  fondness  of  Jonson 
for  Shakspeare  is  visible  upon  every  mention  of  his  name. 
This  is  the  second  time  that  he  has  applied  the  epithet  of  gentle 
to  him,  which  is  now  become  a  part  of  his  name.  Just  below, 
he  calls  him  the  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon :  It  would  have  killed 
Mr.  Malone's  heart  to  acknowledge  that  the  two  most  en- 
dearing appellations  by  which  this  great  poet  has  been  known 
and  characterised  for  nearly  two  centuries,  were  first  bestowed 
upon  him  by  "  old  Ben,  who  persecuted  his  memory  with 
clumsy  sarcasm,  and  restless  malignity.'' 


UNDERWOODS.  333 

Sweet  Swan  of  Avon  !  what  a  sight  it  were 

To  see  thee  in  our  water  yet  appear, 

And  make    those    flights    upon  the    banks   of 

Thames, 

That  so  did  take  Eliza,  and  our  James  ! 
But  stay,  I  see  thee  in  the  hemisphere 
Advanced,  and  made  a  constellation  there! 
Shine  forth,  thou  Star  of  poets,  and  with  rage, 
Or  influence,  chide,  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 
Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourn'd 

like  night, 
And  despairs  day,  hut  for  thy  volume's  light.6 

"  And  despairs  day^  but  for  thy  volume's  light.]  The  two 
greatest  poets  of  our  nation  have  been  divided  in  their  senti- 
ments of  the  testimony  which  Jonson  gives  in  these  verses  to 
the  merits  and  the  genius  of  Shakespear.  Jonson,  it  must  be 
owned,  was  not  formed  to  that  facility  of  praise,  which  flows 
indiscriminately  where  prejudice  or  humour  point  the  way. 
His  suffrage  was  never  given,  but  matured  by  judgment,  and 
authorised  by  science.  Mr.  Dryden  calls  it  an  invidious  and 
sparing,  but  I  incline  to  Mr.  Pope's  opinion  in  thinking  it  an 
ample  and  honourable  panegyrick  to  the  memory  of  his  friend. 

WHAL. 

I  should  conceive  that  every  unprejudiced  reader  must  be  of 
Whalley's  mind.  But  is  it  possible  to  be  silent  and  hear  the 
warmest  encomium,  the  most  affectionate  tribute  of  praise,  that 
was  ever  offered  to  the  memory  of  departed  worth  and  genius, 
taxed  with  envy  by  every  scribbler  who  is  profligate  enough  to 
belie  his  understanding  for  the  sake  of  indulging  his  malice? 
Jonson  not  only  sets  Shakspeare  above  his  contemporaries,  but 
above  the  ancients,  whose  works  himself  idolized,  and  of  whose 
genuine  merits  he  was,  perhaps,  a  more  competent  judge  than 
any  scholar  of  his  age  :  yet  for  this  glowing  effusion,  which 
does  more  credit  to  the  talents  and  genius  of  Shakspeare  than 
all  that  has  since  appeared  on  those  subjects,  Mr.  Malone 
sneers  at  him,  and  Mr.  Steevens  adds  to  the  insult.  4<  Now  let 
us  compare  the  present  eulogium  of  old  Ben  with  such  of  his 
other  sentiments  as  hare  reached  posterity  :''  and  he  deliberately 
proceeds  to  re-copy  the  vile  forgery  of  Macklin,  which  had 
been  just  detected  and  exposed  in  the  preceding  volume. 

With  respect  to  the  critical  notions  of  Dryden,  I  utterly 


334  UNDERWOODS. 

XIII. 

ON  THE  HONOURED  PoEMS 

OF  HIS  HONOURED  FRIEND, 

SIR  JOHN  BEAUMONT,  BARONET.* 

This  book  will  live ;  it  hath  a  Genius  ;  thTs 
Above  his  reader,  or  his  praiser,  is. 

disclaim  them.  He  saw  clearly,  and  decided  justly,  where  his 
interest  or  his  passions  did  not  interpose  ;  but  this  was  so  fre- 
quently the  case,  that  no  reliance  can  be  securely  placed  on 
any  one  opinion  which  he  ever  advanced.  He  hated,  and  what 
must  astonish  a  reader  of  the  present  day,  feared  Shadwell ; 
and  because  Shadwell  spoke  with  respect  of  Jonson,  and  pre- 
ferred him  to  all  the  dramatic  writers  of  his  own  times,  Dryden 
laboured  to  decry  and  injure  him.  This  is  the  true  secret  of  his 
criticism. 

It  must  mightily  console  the  admirers  of  Shakspeare  to  find 
one  so  tremblingly  alive  to  his  reputation,  as  to  discover  a  spirit 
of  detraction  in  the  panegyric  of  Jonson,  thus  atoning  for  the 
injustice,  in  his  own  name.  "  Shakspeare  writes  (Dryden  says) 
in  many  places  below  the  dullest  writers  of  ours  or  any  precedent 
age.  He  is  the  very  Janus  of  poets  ;  he  wears  almost  every  where 
two  faces ;  and  you  have  scarce  begun  to  admire  the  one  ere  you 
despise  the  other.  His  plots  are  lame,  and  made  up,  many  of 
them,  of  some  ridiculous  and  incoherent  story,  which  in  one 
play  many  times  took  up  the  business  of  an  age.  Many  of  his 
plays,  as  the  Winter's  Tale,  Love's  Labour  Lost,  and  Measure  for 
Measure,  are  either  grounded  on  impossibilities,  or,  at  least,  so 
meanly  written,  that  the  comedy  neither  caused  your  mirth, 
nor  the  serious  part  your  concernment." 

I  have  yet  a  word  to  say  of  Dryden.  Of  all  the  dramatic 
writers  of  Charles's  days,  who  traded  in  obscenity  and  profane- 
ness,  he  is  by  far  the  most  inexcuseable.  Nothing  can  be  so 
stupid,  nothing  so  loathsome  as  his  perpetual  struggle  to  be  im- 
pious and  immoral.  It  is  evident  that  Nature  built  up  this  great 
poet  for  the  defence  of  wisdom  and  .virtue ;  and  it  is  truly  shock- 
ing to  see  him  laboriously  lashing  and  spurring  his  reluctant  and 
jaded  powers  forward  in  the  cause  of  vice.  He  is  wicked  by 
mere  effort ;  but,  happily,  not  dangerous  : — and  it  is  hard  to 
decide  whether  his  reader  or  himself  is  most  obliged  to  the 
dulness  which  renders  his  mischievous  propensities  so  innoxious. 

1  On  the  honoured  poems  of  his  honoured  friend,  sir  John  Beau. 


UNDERWOODS.  335 

Hence,   then,    profane !    here   needs   no   words 

expense 

In  bulwarks,  rav'lins,  ramparts  for  defence  : 
Such  as  the  creeping  common  pioners  use, 
When  they  do  sweat  to  fortify  a  Muse. 
Though  I  confess  it  BEAUMONT'S  book  to  be 
The  bound,  and  frontier  of  our  poetry  ; 
And  doth  deserve  all  muniments  of  praise, 
That  art,  or  ingine,  on  the  strength  can  raise  ; 
Yet,  who  dares  offer  a  redoubt  to  rear, 
To  cut  a  dike,  or  stick  a  stake  up,  here, 
Before  this  work  ?  where  envy  hath  not  cast 
A  trench  against  it,  nor  a  batt'ry  plac't  ? 
Stay  till  she  make  her  vain  approaches ;  then, 
If  maimed  she  come  off,  'tis  not  of  men, 
This  fort  of  so  impregnable  access; 
But  higher  power,  as  spight  could  not  make  less, 

mont.]  I  hare  taken  the  following  copy  from  the  complimentary 
verses,  prefixed  to  the  poems  which  it  celebrates.  Sir  John 
Beaumont  was  the  elder  brother  of  Francis  Beaumont  the  dra- 
matic writer,  and  a  man  of  genius  and  virtue.  His  poems  were 
published  after  his  decease,  and  dedicated  to  king  Charles,  by 
sir  John  Beaumont,  his  son.  The  most  esteemed  amongst  them 
is  the  poem  of  Bosworth  Field.  But  the  reader  will  be  able  to 
form  some  idea  of  his  merit,  from  the  following  verses  : 

AN   EPITAPH 

UPON  MY  DEAR  BROTHER  FRANCIS  BEAUMONT. 

"  On  Death  thy  murd'rer  this  revenge  I  take  ; 
I  slight  his  terror,  and  just  question  make, 
Which  of  us  two  the  best  precedence  have, 
Mine  to  this  wretched  world,  thine  to  the  grave. 
Thou  should'st  have  follow'd  me,  but  Death,  to  blame, 
Miscounted  years,  and  measur'd  age  by  fame. 
So  dearly  hast  thou  bought  thy  precious  lines, 
Their  praise  grew  swiftly,  so  thy  life  declines  : 
Thy  muse,  the  hearer's  queen,  the  reader's  love, 
All  ears,  all  hearts,  but  Death's,  could  please  and  move." 

WHAL. 


336  UNDERWOODS. 

Nor  flattery  ;  but,  secur'd  by  the  author's  name, 
Defies  what's  cross  to  piety,  or  good  fame  : 
And  like  a  hallowed  temple,  free  from  taint 
Of  ethnicisme,  makes  his  Muse  a  saint. 


XIV. 

To  MR.  JOHN  FLETCHER,  UPON  HIS 
FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS. 

The  wise,  and  many-headed  bench,  that  sits 
Upon  the  life  and  death  of  plays  and  wits, 
(Compos'd  of  gamester,  captain,  knight,  knight's 

man, 

Lady  or  pucelle,  that  wears  mask  or  fan, 
Velvet,  or  tatfata  cap,  rank'd  in  the  dark 
With  the  shop's  foreman,  or  some  such  brave 

spark 

That  may  judge  for  his  sixpence)  had,  before 
They  saw  it  half,  damn'd  thy  whole  play,  and 

more : 

Their  motives  were,  since  it  had  not  to  do 
With  vices,  which  they  look'd  for,  and  came  to. 
I,  that  am  glad  thy  innocence  was  thy  guilt, 
And  wish  that  all  the  Muses'  blood  were  spilt 
In  such  a  martyrdom,  to  vex  their  eyes, 
Do  crown  thy  murder'd  poem  :  which  shall  rise 
A  glorified  work  to  time,  when  fire, 
Or  moths  shall  eat  what  all  these  fools  admire." 

*  This  poem,  which  was  taken  by  Whalley  from  Seward's 
edition  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  must  have  been  written  at 
an  early  period  of  Jonson's  life,  as  the  Faithful  Shepherdess  was 
brought  out  about  1610.  See  vol.  vi.  p.  305.  Jonson  has  no 
reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  prediction. 


UNDERWOODS.  337 

XV. 
EPITAPH 

ON  THE  COUNTERS  OF  PEMBROKE.* 

Underneath  this  sable  herse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 

3  Epitaph  on  the  countess  of  Pembroke,  &c.]  This  delicate 
epitaph  is  universally  assigned  to  Our  author,  though  it  hath 
never  yet  been  printed  with  his  works :  it  is  therefore  with 
some  pleasure,  that  I  hare  given  It  a  place  here.  This  lady,  for 
whose  entertainment  sir  Philip  Sidney  wrote  the  Arcadia^  lived 
to  a  good  old  age,  and  died  in  1621.  She  was  buried  in  the 
cathedral  of  Salisbury,  in  the  burial-place  of  the  Pembroke 
family.  WHAL. 

The  exquisite  beauty  of  this  little  piece  (the  most  perfect  of 
its  kind)  has  drawn  a  word  of  approbation  from  the  stern  and 
cynical  Osborne.  "  Lest  I  should  seem  (he  says)  to  trespasse 
upon  truth  in  the  praise  of  this  lady,  I  shall  leave  the  world 
her  epitaph,  in  which  the  author  doth  manifest  himself  a  poet 
in  all  things  but  untruth." 

To  the  Vines  in  the  text,  Osborne  subjoins  the  following  : 

Marble  piles  let  no  man  raise 
To  her  name,  for  after  days. 
Some  kind  woman,  born  as  she, 
Reading  this,  like  Niobe, 
Shall  turn  statue,  and  become 
Both  her  mourner  and  her  tomb. 

On  this  paltry  addition,  the  editors  of  the  Secret  History  of' 
the  Court  oj  James  I.  who  manifest  on  all  occasions,  a  strange 
hostility  to  our  author,  observe,  *'  It  is  possible  that  Jonson 
cancelled  these  lines  on  account  of  the  outrageous  wit  with 
which  they  disgrace  the  commencement."  vol.  i.  p.  225.  It  IB 
also  possible  that  Jonson  never  saw  them.  Setting  aside  the 
absurdity  of  supposihg  the  poet  to  say  in  one  line,  that  such 
another  character  would  never  appear,  and  to  admit  in  the  next 
that  nothing  was  so  likely,  the  critics  ought  to  have  known  (for 
the  fact  was  very  accessible)  that  the  verses  in  question  were 
copied  from  the  poems  of  the  earl  of  Pembroke,  a  humble  votary 

VOL.  VIII.  Z 


338  UNDERWOODS. 

SIDNEY'S  sister,  PEMBROKE'S  mother; 
Death  !   ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Learn'd  and  fair,  and  good  as  s,he, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

XVI. 

A  VISION 

ON  THE  MUSES  OF  HIS  FRIEND 
MICHAEL  DRATTON. 

It  hath  been  question'd,  MICHAEL,*  if  I  be 
A  friend  at  all ;  or,  if  at  all,  to  thee  : 
Because,  who  make  the  question,  have  not  seen 
Those  ambling  visits  pass  in  verse,  between 
Thy  Muse  and  mine,  as  they  expect :  'tis  true, 
You  have  not  writ  to  me,  nor  I  to  you. 
And  though  I  now  begin,  'tis  not  to  rub 
Hanch  against  hanch,  or  raise  a  rhyming  club 
About  the  town  ;  this  reckoning  I  will  pay, 
Without  conferring  symbols  ;  this'  my  day. 
It  was  no  dream  !  I  was  awake,  and  saw. 
Lend  me  thy  voice,  O  Fame,  that  I  may  draw 

of  the  Muses,  to  whose  pen  they  are  assigned  by  the  prefix  of  his 
usual  initials.  There  can,  in  fact,  be  no  doubt,  that  they  pro- 
ceeded from  his  lordship,  whose  singular  aifection  for  his  vener- 
able parent  furnishes  a  ready  apology  for  their  defects. 

Whalley  has  said  nothing  of  the  literary  merits  of  the  coun. 
tess  of  Pembroke,  which  were  of  a  very  distinguished  nature. 
She  wrote  verse  with  grace  and  facility,  and  she  translated  the 
Tragedie  of  Antonie  from  the  French :  her  chief  works,  however, 
were  works  of  piety,  and  her  virtues  still  went  before  her 
talents. 

•*  It  liath  been  questioned,  &c.]  These  lines  are  prefixed  to  the 
second  volume  of  Drayton's  works,  which  came  out,  in  folio, 
in  1627.  They  contain,  as  Whalley  observes,  "  an  enumeration 
of  his  poems,  with  our  author's  testimony  to  their  merits." 
Jonson  always  thought  favourably  of  Dray  ton,  and  appears, 
from  several  incidental  expressions,  to  have  been  very  familiar 
with  his  works. 


UNDERWOODS.  339 

Wonder  to  truth,  and  have  my  vision  hurl'd 

Hot  from  thy  trumpet  round  about  the  world. 

I  saw  a  beauty,  from  the  sea  to  rise, 

That  all  earth  look'd  on,  and  that  earth  all  eyes ! 

It  cast  a  beam,  as  when  the  cheerful  sun 

Is  fair  got  up,  and  day  some  hours  begun; 

And  fill'd  an  orb  as  circular  as  heaven  : 

The  orb  was  cut  forth  into  regions  seven, 

And  those  so  sweet,  and  well  proportion'd  parts, 

As  it  had  been  the  circle  of  the  arts  : 

When,  by  thy  bright  IDEA  standing  by,6 

I  found  it  pure  and  perfect  poesy. 

There  read  I,  straight,  thy  learned  LEGENDS  three, 

Heard  the  soft  airs,  between  our  swains  and  thee, 

Which  made  me  think-the  old  Theocritus, 

Or  rural  Virgil  come  to  pipe  to  us. 

But  then  thy  Epistolar  HEROIC  SONGS, 

Their  loves,  their  quarrels,  jealousies  and  wrongs, 

Did  all  so  strike  me,  as  I  cried,  who  can 

With  us  be  call'd  the  Naso,  but  this  man? 

And  looking  up,  I  saw  Minerva's  fowl, 

Perch'd  over  head,  the  wise  Athenian  OWL  : 

I  thought  thee  then  our  Orpheus,  that  wouldst 

try, 

Like  him,  to  make  the  air  one  volary. 
And  I  had  styled  thee  Orpheus,  but  before 
My  lips  cou'd  form  the  voice,  I  heard  that  roar, 
And  rouze,  the  marching  of  a  mighty  force, 
Drums  against  drums,  the  neighing  of  the  horse, 
The  fights,  the  cries,  and  wond'ring  at  the  jars, 
I  saw  and  read  it  was  the  BARONS  WARS. 

5  When  by  thy  bright  IDEA,  &c.]  This  is  one  of  Drayton's 
earliest  pieces.  "  Idea,  or  the  Shepherds'  Garland,  fashioned 
in  nine  eglogs,  1593."  The  Legends  are,  I  believe,  those  of 
"  Cromwell,"  "  Mortimer,"  and  "  Matilda;"  the  Songs  are 
"England's  Heroical  Epistles,"  published  in  1598. 

•  The  Owl.}  Published  in  4to.  1604.  The  Barons  War$t  1588. 
Z  2 


340  UNDERWOODS. 

O  how  in  those  dost  thou  instruct  these  times, 
That  rebels  actions  are  but  valiant  crimes ; 
And  carried,  though  with  shout  and  noise,  confess 
A  wild,  and  an  unauthorized  wickedness  ! 
Say'st  thou  so,  Lucan?  but  thou  scorn'stto  stay 
Under  one  title  :  thou  hast  made  thy  way 
And  flight  about  the  isle,  well  near,  by  this 
In  thy  admired  Periegesis, 
Or  universal  circumduction 
Of  all  that  read  thy  POLY-OLBION  ;7 

7  Thy  Pofy-Olbion.']  This  is  Drayton's  principal  work,  and 
was  once  exceedingly  popular.  It  is  possessed  of  considerable 
merit,  and  those  who  may  be  inclined  to  smile  at  its  fantastic 
chorography,  may  yet  be  pleased  to  discover  many  detached 
passages  of  high  poetic  beauty.  Drayton  was  encouraged  to 
proceed  with  this  poem  by  prince  Henry  ;  and  Daniel,  who  also 
found,  in  this  lamented  youth,  a  generous  patron,  seems  to 
advert  to  the  circumstance  with  no  great  complacency. 

The  poems,  to  which  Jonson  alludes  in  the  subsequent  lines, 
are  The  Battle  of  Agincourt,  The  Miseries  of  Queen  Margaret, 
the  Quest  of  Cynthia,  The  Shepherds'  Syrene,  The  Moon  Calf,  and 
the  well  known  Nymphidia,  or  the  Court  of  Fairies:  all  pub- 
lished in  1627. 

The  following  remarks  on  Drayton  by  Granger  (bating  a 
little  extravagance  in  the  opening  sentence)  are  not  ill  drawn 
up,  and  may  fitly  conclude  the  notes  on  the  subject  of  this  once 
celebrated  poet. 

The  reputation  of  Drayton,  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and 
James  I.  stood  on  much  the  same  level  with  that  of  Cowley,  in 
the  reigns  of  Charles  I.  and  II.  but  it  has  declined  considerably 
since  that  period.  He  frequently  wants  that  elevation  of  thought 
which  is  essential  to  poetry ;  though  in  some  of  the  stanzas  of 
his  "  Barons  Wars,"  he  is  scarce  inferior  to  Spenser.  In  his 
"  England's  Heroical  Epistles,"  written  in  the  manner  of  Ovid, 
he  has  been,  in  general,  happier  in  the  choice,  than  the  execu- 
tion of  his  subjects ;  yet  some  of  his  imitations  are  more  in  the 
spirit  of  that  poet,  than  several  of  the  English  translations  of 
him.  His  "  Nymphidia,  or  Court  of  Fayrie,"  seems  to  have  been 
the  greatest  effort  of  his  imagination,  and  is  the  most  generally 
admired  of  his  works.  His  character  among  his  friends  was  that 
of  a  modest  and  amiable  man.  Ob.  1631."  Biog.  Hist.  v.  L 
p.  10,  11. 


UNDERWOODS.  341 

That  read  it !  that  are  ravish'd  ;  such  was  I, 
With  every  song,  I  swear,  and  so  would  die ; 
But  that  I  hear  again  thy  drum  to  beat 
A  better  cause,  and  strike  the  bravest  heat 
That  ever  yet  did  fire  the  English  blood, 
Our  right  in  France,  if  rightly  understood. 
There  thou  art  Homer  ;  pray  thee,  use  the  style 
Thou  hast  deserv'd,  and  let  me  read  the  while 
Thy  catalogue  of  ships,  exceeding  his, 
Thy  list  of  aids  and  force,  for  so  it  is  : 
The  poet's  act ;  and  for  his  country's  sake, 
Brave  are  the  musters  that  the  muse  will  make. 
And  when  he  ships  them,  where  to  use  their  arms, 
How  do  his  trumpets  breathe !   what  loud  alarms  ! 
Look  how  we  read  the  Spartans  were  inflam'd 
With  bold  Tyrta3us'  verse ;  when  thou  art  nam'd, 
So  shall  our  English  youth  urge  on,  and  cry 
An  AGINCOURT  !  an  AGINCOURT  !  or  die. 
This  book,  it  is  a  catechism  to  fight, 
And  will  be  bought  of  every  lord  and  knight 
That  can  but  read  ;  who  cannot,  may  in  prose 
Get  broken  pieces,  and  fight  well  by  those. 
The  miseries  of  MARGARET  the  queen, 
Of  tender  eyes  will  more  be  wept  than  seen. 
I  feel  it  by  mine  own,  that  overflow 
And  stop  my  sight  in  every  line  I  go. 
But  then,  refreshed  by  thy  FAIRY  COURT, 
1  look  on  CYNTHIA,  and  SYRENA'S  sport, 
As  on  two  flow'ry  carpets,  that  did  rise, 
And  with  their  grassy  green  restored  mine  eyes. 
Yet  give  me  leave  to  wonder  at  the  birth 
Of  thy  strange  MOON-CALF,  both  thy  straia  of 

mirth, 

And  gossip-got  acquaintance,  as  to  us 
Thou  hadst  brought  Lapland,  or  old  Cobalus, 
Empusa,  Lamia,  or  some  monster  more, 
Than  Afric  knew,  or  the  full  Grecian  store. 


342  UNDERWOODS. 

I  gratulate  it  to  thee,  and  thy  ends, 

To  all  thy  virtuous  and  well-chosen  friends  ; 

Only  my  loss  is,  that  I  am  not  there, 

And  till  I  worthy  am  to  wish  I  were, 

I  call  the  world  that  envies  me,  to  see 

If  I  can  be  a  friend,  and  friend  to  thee. 

XVII. 

EPITAPH 
ON  MICHAEL  DaAYTON.7 

Do,  pious  marble,  let  thy  readers  know 

What  they,  and  what  their  children  owe 

To  Drayton's  name  ;  whose  sacred  dust 

We  recommend  unto  thy  trust. 

Protect  his  memory,  and  preserve  his  story, 

Remain  a  lasting  monument  of  his  glory. — 

And  when  thy  ruins  shall  disclaim 

To  be  the  treasurer  of  his  name  ; 

His  name,  that  cannot  die,  shall  be, 

An  everlasting  monument  to  thee.* 

7  On  Michael  Drayton.)    Tradition  hath  generally  fixed  on 
Jonson  as  the  author  of  this  Epitaph  ;  nor  is  it  unworthy  of  his 
genius,  or  the  friendship  between  him  and  Drayton,  or  unlike 
the  stile  and  spirit  of  his  smaller  poems.     WHAL. 

In  a  MS.  in  Ashmole's  Museum,  (38,)  this  Epitaph  is  attri- 
buted to  Randolph  ;  Aubrey  ascribes  it  to  Qnarles  ;  it  has  also 
been  given  to  others,  and  with  as  little  judgment.  1  see  no 
reason  to  dispute  the  common  opinion. 

8  His  name,  that  cannot  Jade,  shall  be^ 

An  everlasting  monument  to  thee.'}  This  too  might  surprize 
Mr.  Cumberland  ;  for  Jonson  seems  to  have  been  poaching 
for  it  among  the  Greek  fragments.  See  the  epigram  of  Ion 
on  the  tomb  of  Euripides  : 

Ou  rov  ftv>]ju,a  roS'  eg-',  Eupwn&i),  «AXa  <ro  rsSe, 
TJJ  <rjj  yag  So^jj  /a-yi^a  TO&' 


UNDERWOODS.  343 


XVIII. 

TO  MY  TRULY  BELOVED  FRIEND, 

MASTER  BROWNE  : 
ON  HIS  PASTORALS.' 

Some  men,  of  books  or  friends  not  speaking  right, 
May  hurt  them  more  with  praise,  than  foes  with 

spight. 

But  I  have  seen  thy  work,  and  I  know  thee : 
And,  if  thou  list  thyself,  what  thou  canst  be. 
For,  though  but  early  in  these  paths  thou  tread, 
J  find  thee  write  most  worthy  to  be  read. 
It  must  be  thine  own  judgment,  yet,  that  sends 
This   thy  work    forth ;    that  judgment    mine 

commends. 

And,  where  the  most  read  books,  on  authors' fames, 
Or,  like  our  money-brokers,  take  up  names 
On  credit,  and  are  cozen'd  ;  see,  that  thou 
By  offering  not  more  sureties,  than  enow, 

'  These  lines  are  prefixed  to  "  Britannia's  Pastorals,  the 
second  Book,"  by  William  Browne,  fol.  1616,  and  8vo.  1625. 
They  are  now  added,  for  the  first  time,  to  these  volumes. 

Browne  was  but  a  young  man  when  he  published  his  pasto- 
rals ;  they  exhibit,  among  many  pretty  passages,  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  youth,  a  gaudy  taste,  and  an  undisciplined 
judgment.  There  was  more  than  enough  howt-ver  to  justify  the 
expectations  of  Jonson,  and  had  he  found  leisure  or  inclination 
to  cultivate  his  natural  talents  for  poetry,  his  success  could 
scarcely  have  been  matter  of  doubt. 

His  literary  acquirements  were  considerable,  and  these,  to- 
gether  with  his  amiable  qualities,  powerfully  recommended  him 
to  our  author's  great  friend  and  patron,  the  earl  of  Pembroke, 
under  whom  he  is  said  to  have  acquired  considerable  property. 
The  "  envious"  Ben  appears  to  have  felt  no  jealousy  at  this; 
which  I  notice  as  a  phenomenon  that  calls  for  grave  inquiry. 


344  UNDERWOODS. 

Hold  thine  own  worth  unbroke;    which  is  so 

good 

Upon  the  Exchange  of  Letters,  as  I  wou'd 
More  of  our  writers  would  like  thee,  not  swell 
With  the  how  much  they  set  forth,  but  the  how 

well. 

XIX. 

To  HIS  MUCH  AND  WORTHILY  ESTEEMED  FRIEND, 
THE  AUTHOR. 

Who  takes  thy  volume  to  his  virtuous  hand,* 
Must  be  intended  still  to  understand  : 
Who  bluntly  doth  but  look  upon  the  same, 
May  ask,  what  author  would  conceal  his  name? 
Who  reads  may  rove,  and  call  the  passage  dark, 
Yet  may  as  blind  men  sometimes  hit  the  mark. 
Who  reads,  who  roves,  who  hopes  to  understand, 
May  take  thy  volume  to  his  virtuous  hand: 
Who  cannot  read,  but  only  doth  desire 
To  understand,  he  may  at  length  admire. 

1  Who  takes  thy  volume,  &c.]  This  little  piece  stands  with 
Jonson's  name,  before  Cynthia's  Revenge,  or  Menander's  Ex- 
tasie,"  4to.  l6l3.  This  tragedy  was  written  by  John  Stephens, 
of  whom  I  onlj  know  that  he  was  a  learned  man,  and  a  member 
of  the  honourable  Society  of  Lincoln's  Inn.  Langhaine,  who 
mentions  him,  merely  tells  us  that  he  lived  in  the  reign  of 
James  I.  "  His  play  (he  says)  is  one  of  the  longest  that  ever 
was  written,  and  withal  the  most  tedious."  Whether  Langbaine, 
when  he  made  this  remark,  "  read  or  roved,"  as  I  never  saw 
the  tragedy,  I  cannot  determine. 


UNDERWOODS.  345 

XX. 

TO  MY  WORTHY 

AND  HONOURED  FRIEND, 

MASTER  GEORGE  CHAPMAN.2 

Whose  work,  could  this  be,  CHAPMAN,  to  refine 
Old  Hesiod's  ore,  and  give  it  thus!   but  thine, 
Who  hadst  before  wrought  in  rich  Homer's  mine. 

*  These  lines  are  prefixed  to  the  "  Translation  of  Hesiod's 
Works  and  Days,  4to.  1618."  There  had  always  been  an  extra- 
ordinary degree  of  friendship  between  Chapman  and  our  author. 
They  united  their  talents  in  Eastward  Hoe,  and  when  the 
former  was  thrown  into  prison  for  the  political  reflections  in 
that  piece,  Jonson  voluntarily  accompanied  him.  He  told 
Drummond  in  1619,  that  "  he  loved  Chapman ;"  and  we  hare 
just  seen  how  he  had  complimented  him  in  the  preceding  year. 
All  this  signifies  nothing,  and  the  old  calumny  of  "  envy," 
"  jealousy,"  and  I  know  not  what,  is  again  served  up  to  the 
nauseated  reader.  "  Jonson,"  says  the  editor  of  the  Theatrum 
Poetarum  of  Phillips.  8vo.  1800,  "  being  delivered  from  Shak. 
speare,  (in  1616,)  began  unexpectedly  to  be  disturbed  at  the  rising 
reputation  of  a  new  theatrical  rival."  p.  252.  Chapman  was  born 
in  1557,  (about  twenty  years  before  our  author,)  he  was  there- 
fore threescore,  at  the  death  of  Shakspeare,  and  the  new  thea- 
trical rival  at  whose  rising  reputation  Jonson  began  unexpect- 
edly to  be  disturbed,  was  one  with  whom  he  had  lived  all  his 
life  in  strict  intimacy,  as  appears  by  their  mutual  correspondence, 
and  who  had  composed  almost  the  whole  of  bis  dramatic  works, 
many  years  before  the  period  in  question. 

Can  the  reader  discover  any  trace  of  "  jealousy"  in  the 
heartfelt  and  elegant  compliment  which  Jonson  here  pays  his 
*'  worthy  and  honoured  friend  ?"  Shame  on  it !  The  common 
decencies  of  character  arc  overlooked  where  this  great  poet  is 
concerned.  To  belie  him  is  all  that  is  thought  necessary  ;  and 
when  ignorance,  or  impudence,  or  both  together,  have  put 
forth  A  clumsy  falsehood  against  him,  the  slander  is  greedily 
hailed  by  the  public  as  an  additional  triumph  on  the  side  of 
Shakspeare. 

I  have  yet  a  word  to  say  to  the  anonymous  Editor  of  this 


346*  UNDERWOODS. 

What  treasure  hast  thou  brought  us  !  and  what 

store 

Still,  still,  dost  thou  arrive  with  at  our  shore, 
To  make  thy  honour,  and  our  wealth  the  more  ! 

If  all  the  vulgar  tongues  that  speak  this  day 
Were  ask'd  of  thy  discoveries  ;  they  must  say, 
To  the  Greek  coast  thine  only  knew  the  way. 

Such  passage  hast  thou  found,  such  returns  made, 
As  now  of  all  men,  it  is  call'd  thy  trade, 
And  who  make  thither  else,  rob,  or  invade. 

Yolume.  (the  Tbeatrum  Poetarnm.)  That  he  is  actuated  by  a 
spirit  of  hostility  towards  Jonson,  is  manifest ;  but  even  this 
•will  scarcely  be  admitted  as  a  sufficient  apology  for  quoting  a 
scurrilous  attack  upon  him  from  a  work  where  it  is  not  to  be 
found.  Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  he  says,  has  represented 
the  character  of  Jonson  in  "  no  very  unjust  light."  We  are 
then  regaled  with  the  ribaldry  of  that  splenetic  hypocrite,  in  a 
tissue  of  malicious  charges,  concluding  with  this  sentence:  "  In 
short,  Jonson  was  in  his  personal  character  the  very  reverse  of 
Shakspeare,  as  surly,  illnatured,  proud  and  disagreeable,  as 
Shakspeare,  with  ten  times  his  merit,  was  gentle,  good-natured, 
easy  and  amiable."  p.  249. 

How  has  the  editor  the  boldness  to  father  this  rancorous 
language  upon  Drummond,  who  has  not  a  syllable  of  it !  "  See 
Drummond's  Works,"  he  coolly  says,  at  the  bottom  of  page  244 : 
but  has  he  seen  them  ?  The  fact  is,  that  the  passage  in  question 
is  a  wicked  fabrication,  put  into  Drummond's  mouth,  by  bhicls, 
the  Scotchman,  the  author  of  the  Lives  of  the  Poets  which  pass 
under  the  name  of  Theophilus  Gibber. 

"  Now  this  is  worshipful  authority"  ! — but  it  does  very  well 
in  Jonson's  case,  and  is,  indeed,  quite  as  worthy  of  notice,  and 
quite  as  authentic,  as  most  of  the  matter  brought  against  him. 


UNDERWOODS.  847 

XXI. 

To  MY  CHOSEN  FRIEND, 

THE  LEARNED  TRANSLATOR  OF  LuCAN, 
THOMAS  MAT,  ESQUIRE. 

When,  Rome,  I  read  thee  in  thy  mighty  pair, 
And  see  both  climbing  up  the  slippery  stair 
Of  Fortune's  wheel,  by  Lucan  driv'n  about, 
And  the  world  in  it,  I  begin  to  doubt, 
At  every  line  some  pin  thereof  should  slack 
At  least,  if  not  the  general  engine  crack. 
But  when  again  I  view  the  parts  so  pays'd, 
And  those  in  number  so,  and  measure  rais'd, 
As  neither  Pompey's  popularity, 
Caesar's  ambition,  Cato's  liberty, 
Calm  Brutus'  tenor  start,  but  all  along 
Keep  due  proportion  in  the  ample  song, 
It  makes  me,  ravish'd  with  just  wonder,  cry 
What  Muse,  or  rather  God  of  harmony 
Taught  Lucan  these  true  modes  !    replies  my 

sense, 

What  gods  but  those  of  arts,  and  eloquence? 
Phoebus,  and  Hermes  ?    they  whose  tongue,  or 

pen, 

Are  still  th'  interpreters  twixt  gods  and  men  ! 
But  who  hath  them  interpreted,  and  brought 
Lucan's  whole  frame  unto  us,  and  so  wrought, 
As  not  the  smallest  joint,  or  gentlest  word 
In  the  great  mass,  or  machine  there  is  stirr'd  ? 
The  self  same  Genius  !  so  the  work  will  say: 
The  Sun  translated,  or  the  son  of  MAY.' 

*  i.  e.  Hermes.  This  complimentary  poem,  which  is  signed 
U(Your  true  friend  in  judgment  and  choice,  Ben  Jonson,"  is  pre- 
fixed to  May's  Translation  of  Lucan ,  1627.  May,  with  whom 


438  UNDERWOODS. 


XXII. 

To  MY  DEAR  SON, 

AND  RIGHT  LEARNED  FRIEND, 
MASTER  JOSEPH  RUTTER. 

You  look,  my  JOSEPH,  I  should  something  say 
Unto  the  world,  in  praise  of  your  first  play  : 
And  truly,  so  I  would,  could  I  be  heard. 
You  know,  I  never  was  of  truth  afeard, 

our  author  appears  to  have  always  lived  on  terms  of  the  strict- 
est friendship,  is  selected  by  Macklin,  with  his  usual  good 
fortune,  to  father  one  of  his  scurrilous  attacks  upon  Jonson  ; 
much  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Steevens,  who  exults  in  the 
clumsy  forgery  as  a  decisive  proof  of  "  old  Ben's  malignity  to 
Shakspeare. 

May  published  a  continuation  of  Lucan  in  1630,  which  was 
reprinted  in  Holland,  1640,  with  this  title.  Supplementum  Lu. 
cani  authore  Tho.  May,  Anglo.  The  first  edition  has  never  fallen, 
in  my  way  ;  the  second  is  prefaced  by  the  following  lines, 
written,  as  I  conjecture,  by  olir  author,  though  the  foreign, 
press  has  copied  his  name  incorrectly. 


Dignissimo 

Viro 

Thomec  Mayo 

Amico  suo  summe  honorando. 
Terge  parentales  ocu!os,  postfunera  mundi 

Roma  tui,  nondum  tota  tepulta  jaccs. 
Gloria  vivit  adhuc  radiis  evincta  coruscis 
Qitam  tibi  perpetuat  nobile  Vatisopus: 
Cujus  in  historia  moreris,  pariterque  triutnphas  : 

Exornantque  tuas  vulnera  sceva  genas. 
Ingenio,  Lucane,  tuo  tua  Roma  minis 

Auctior,  et  damnis  stat  vcneranda  magis 
Quam  tot  terrarum  dwn  sceptra  superba  tetter  ft 

Atque  triumphati  spargeret  01  bis  opes. 
Sed  Romtz  quodcunque  tux  Lucane  dedisfi, 

Hoc  dedit  et  Mail  subsidialia  amort 

Qui  tibi  succurrit  vindex,  it  divite  vena 

Supplevit  latices,  te  moriente,  tuos* 


UNDERWOODS.  349 

And  less  asham'd  ;  not  when  I  told  the  crowd 
How  well  I  lov'd  truth  :  I  was  scarce  allow'd 
By  those  deep-grounded,  understanding  men, 
That  sit  to  censure  Plays,  yet  know  not  when, 
Or  why  to  like  ;  they  found,  it  all  was  new, 
And  newer  than  could  please  them,  because  true. 
Such  men  I  met  withal,  and  so  have  you. 
Now,  for  mine  own  part,  and  it  is  but  due, 
(You  have  deserv'd  it  from  me)  I  have  read, 
And  weigh'd  your  play  :  untwisted  ev'ry  thread, 
And  know  the  woof  and  warp  thereof;  can  tell 
Where  it  runs  round,  and  even ;  where  so  well, 
So  soft,  and  smooth  it  handles,  the  whole  piece, 
As  it  were  spun  by  nature  off  the  fleece : 
This  is  my  censure.  Now  there  is  a  new 
Office  of  wit,  a  mint,  and  (this  is  true) 
Cried  up  of  late :  whereto  there  must  be  first 
A  master-worker  calFd,  th'  old  standard  burst 
Of  wit,  and  a  new  made  ;  a  warden  then, 
And  a  comptroller,  two  most  rigid  men 
For  order,  and  for  governing  the  pix, 
A  say-master,  hath  studied  all  the  tricks 
Of  fineness,  and  alloy  :  follow  his  hint, 
You  have  all  the  mysteries  of  wit's  new  mint, 
The  valuations,  mixtures,  and  the  same 
Concluded  from  a  caract  to  a  dram.6 

*  These  lines  are  placed  before  the  Shepherd's  Holiday,  a 
Pastoral  Drama,  published  in  1635.  May  joined  with  Jonson 
in  commendation  of  this  piece,  which  is  favourably  noticed  by 
Langbaine.  Rutter,  who  was  probably  a  man  of  learning,  was 
tutor  to  the  son  of  the  earl  of  Dorset,  lord  chamberlain,  and 
therefore  much  about  the  court.  He  is  said  to  have  translated 
cthe  Cid  of  Corneille,  at  the  command  of  Charles  I. 


350 


XXIII. 
EPIGRAM. 

IN  AUTHOREM.* 

Thou,  that  wouldst  find  the  habit  of  true  passion, 

And  see  a  mind  attir'd  in  perfect  strains; 
Not  wearing  moods,  as  gallants  do  a  fashion, 

In  these  pied  times,  only  to  shew  their  trains, 
Look  here  on  BRETON'S  work,  the  master  print, 

Where  such  perfections  to  the  life  do  rise; 
If  they  seem  wry  to  such  as  look  asquint, 

The  fault's  not  in  the  object,  but  their  eyes. 
For,  as  one  coming  with  a  lateral  view, 

Unto  a  cunning  piece  wrought  perspective, 
Wants  faculty  to  make  a  censure  true ; 

So  with  this  author's  readers  will  it  thrive  ; 
Which  being  eyed  directly,  I  divine, 
His  proof  their  praise  '11  incite,  as  in  this  line. 

XXIV. 

To  THE  WORTHY  AUTHOR, 
ON  THE  HUSBAND." 

It  fits  not  only  him  that  makes  a  book 
To  see  his  work  be  good  ;  but  that  he  look 

s  In  Authorem.']  This  Epigram  is  printed  before  a  poem  of 
that  indefatigable  writer,  Nicholas  Breton,  called  "  Melancho- 
like  humours^  in  rerses  of  diverse  natures.''  1600. 

*  The  poem  to  which  these  lines  are  prefixed,  is  one  of  the 
numerous  effusions  to  which  that  popular  production,  The  Wife 
of  sir  Thomas  Overbury,  gave  rise.  The  name  of  the  writer  is 


UNDERWOODS.  351 

Who  are  his  test,  and  what  their  judgment  is, 
Least  a  false  praise  do  make  their  dotage  his. 
I  do  not  feel  that  ever  yet  I  had 
The  art  of  uttering  wares,  if  they  were  bad  ; 
Or  skill  of  making  matches  in  my  life: 
And  therefore  I  commend  unto  the  JVife, 
That  went  before — a  Husband.     She,  I'll  swear, 
Was  worthy  of  a  good  one,  and  this,  here, 
I  know  for  such,  as  (if  my  word  will  weigh) 
She  need  not  blush  upon  the  marriage  day. 


XXV. 

To  THE  AUTHOR/ 

In  picture,  they  which  truly  understand, 
Require  (besides  the  likeness  of  the  thing) 
Light  posture,  heightening,  shadow, colouring, 

All    which    are   pats   commend    the    cunning 
hand ; 

And  all  your  book,  when  it  is  throughly  scann'd, 
Will  well  confess ;  presenting,  limiting 
Each  subtlest  passion,  with  her  source,  and 
spring, 

So  bold,   as  shews  your  art  you  can  command. 

But  now  your  work  is  done,  if  they  that  view 
The  several  figures,  languish  in  suspense, 

unknown  ;  the  poem  itself  is  extremely  rare  :  indeed,  I  am  not 
aware  of  the  existence  of  any  other  copy  than  that  from  which 
the  above  transcript  was  made,  in  the  collection  of  Mr.  Hill. 
The  title  of  the  work  is  "  The  Husband  :  a  poem  expressed  in 
a  complete  man."  1614,  8vo. 

7  This  sonnet  stands  before  a  poem,  by  Thomas  Wright, 
called  "  The  Passions  of  the  Mind  in  general,  1604,  and 
1620,"  4to. 


352  UNDERWOODS. 

To  judge  which  passion's  false,  and  which  is  true, 
Between  the   doubtful   sway   of  reason    and 

sense; 

*Tis  not  your  fault  if  they  shall  sense  prefer, 
Eeing  told  there  Reason  cannot,  Sense  may  err. 


XXVI. 

To  THE  AUTHOR.' 

Truth  is  the  trial  of  itself, 

And  needs  no  other  touch  ; 
And  purer  than  the  purest  gold, 

Refine  it  ne'er  so  much. 

1  Taken  from  the  complimentary  verses  prefixed  to  The 
Touchstone  of  Truth,  12mo.  Lond.  1630,  by  T.  Warre. 

The  last  nine  little  pieces  are  now,  for  the  first  time,  added 
to  Jonson's  works :  I  hare  collected  them  as  I  could,  and 
placed  them  together,  without  regard  to  the  respective  dates  of 
their  first  appearance,  which,  indeed,  it  was  not  always  easy  to 
ascertain.  They  are  not  given  out  e;£  respect  to  any  intrinsic 
merit  which  they  may  be  thought  to  possess,  though  they  are 
not  without  their  value  on  another  account.  Jenson  has  been 
held  forth  to  the  world  as  the  very  soul  of  envy,  jealous  of  ail 
merit  in  others,  unwilling,  and,  indeed,  unable  to  bear  a  rival 
candidate  for  fame.  But  what  is  the  fact  ?  that  in  the  long  list 
of  English  poets,  he  is  decidedly  among  the  most  candid  and 
generous  :  the  most  free  of  his  advice  and  assistance,  the  most 
liberal  of  his  praise.  This  part  of  Jonson's  character  was 
so  well  established  among  his  contemporaries,  that  almost  every 
one  who  meditated  the  publication  of  a  book  applied  to  him  for 
a  favourable  judgment  of  it.  Whence  it  has  happened  that  there 
are  far  more  commendatory  verses  to  be  met  with  by  our  author 
than  by  any  other  writer  of  those  times.  This  could  not  escape 
Dr.  Farmer;  and  to  the  utter  confusion  of  Steevens  and 
Malone,  he  has  had  the  honesty  to  acknowledge  it.  He  calls 
the  verses  on  Shakspeare,  "  sparing  and  invidious"  as  they  ap- 
pear to  those  critics,  "  the  warmest  panegyrick  that  ever  was 
penned  ;  and  in  truth,"  adds  he,  "  the  received  opinion  of  the 
pride  and  malignity  of  Jonson,  at  least  in  the  earlier  part  of  his 


UNDERWOODS.  853 

It  is  the  life  and  light  of  love, 

The  sun  that  ever  shineth, 
And  spirit  of  that  special  grace, 

That  faith  and  love  defineth. 

It  is  the  warrant  of  the  word, 

That  yields  a  scent  so  sweet, 
As  gives  a  power  to  faith  to  tread 

All  falsehood  under  feet. 

It  is  the  sword  that  doth  divide 

The  marrow  from  the  hone, 
And  in  effect  of  heavenly  love 

Doth  shew  the  Holy  One. 


life,  is  absolutely  groundless;  at  this  time  scarce  a  play  or  a 
poem  appeared  without  Ben's  encomium,  from  the  original 
Shakspeare  to  the  translator  of  Du  Bartas,"  Essay,  &c.  p.  12. 
This  passage  stands  at  the  opening  of  the  second  volume  of  the 
Variorum  Shakspeare^  which,  notwithstanding,  is  filled  with 
abusive  ribaldry  on  the  "  early  malignity"  of  our  author.  Such 
is  the  consistency  of  the  wretched  confederacy  against  his 
reputation  ! 

But  even  Dr.  Farmer  might  hare  spared  his  "  earlier  part  at 
least  ;"  for  it  is  altogether  certain  that  Jonson's  encomiums  were 
as  liberally  bestowed  in  the  decline  of  his  life,  as  at  any  other 
period,  and  that  the  last  productions  of  his  pen  were  panegyrics 
on  the  writings  of  his  contemporaries.  In  truth,  the  failings  of 
this  poet  lay  on  the  side  of  proueness  to  commendation,  and  he 
•was  very  sensible  of  it.  As  early  as  1614,  he  tells  the  learned 
Selden,  that  he  Lad  hitherto  been  too  liberal  of  his  applause  ; 
but  that  he  would  turn  a  sharper  eye  upon  himself  in  future, 
and  consider  what  he  wrote, 

'*  and  vex  it  many  days, 

Before  men  got  a  verse ;  much  less  a  praise." 

Such,  however,  was  the  kindly  warmth  of  his  disposition, 
that  this  resolution  was  broken  as  soon  as  made ;  and  he  con. 
tinued  to  the  close  of  his  life  to  speak  with  favour  of  almost 
every  literary  work  that  appeared.     His  reward  for  this  is 
universal  outcry  on  the  peculiar  malevolence  of  his  nature  ! 

VOL.  viii.  A  a 


354  UNDERWOODS. 

This,  blessed  Warre,  thy  blessed  book 
Unto  the  world  doth  prove ; 

A  worthy  work,  and  worthy  well 
Of  the  most  worthy  love. 


XXVII. 

To  EDWARD  FILMER,' 

ON  HIS  MUSICAL  WORK, 
DEDICATED  TO  THE  QUEEN. 

What  charming  peals  are  these, 
That,  while  they  bind  the  senses,  do  so  please  ? 

They  are  the  marriage-rites 
Of  two,  the  choicest  pair  of  man's  delights, 

Music  and  Poesy ; 
French  air,  and  English  verse,  here  wedded  lie. 

Who  did  this  knot  compose, 
Again  hath  brought  the  lily  to  the  rose ; 

'  To  Edward  Filmer,  on  his  musical  work,  &c.]  This  epigram 
first  appeared  in  the  folio  of  1640,  after  the  death  of  our 
poet.  Possibly  it  might  hare  been  prefixed  to  'the  work  it 
celebrates,  and  from  thence  transcribed  into  the  edition  abore 
mentioned.  Though  no  date  is  set  to  any  of  the  Epigrams,  this 
excepted,  yet  circumstances  -will  assist  us  to  guess  at  the 
time  of  those  addressed  to  the  greatest  persons  then  living. 
In  general,  they  were  written  before  1616,  as  most  of  them 
are  contained  in  the  edition  of  Jonson's  works,  which  was 
published  in  that  year.  WHAL. 

Here  is  much  ado  about  nothing.  What  Whalley  means  by 
most  of  them,  and  in  general,  I  know  not,  since,  blunders  ex- 
cepted, the  second  edition  of  the  old  folio  is  a  mere  transcript 
of  the  first,  with  the  reserve  of  the  present  lines,  which,  notwith- 
standing their  date  (1629),  are  absurdly  inserted  among  the 
Epigrams  printed  in  1616. 


UNDERWOODS.  355 

And,  with  their  chained  dance, 
Re-celebrates  the  joyful  match  with  France. 

They  are  a  school  to  win 
The  fair  French  daughter  to  learn  English  in  ; 

And,  graced  with  her  song, 
To  make  the  language  sweet  upon  her  tongue.1 

XXVIII. 

To  RICHARD  BROME, 

ON  HIS  COMEDY  OF  THE  NORTHERN  LASS.* 

I  had  you  for  a  servant  once,  Dick  Brome, 

And  you  perform'd  a  servant's  faithful  parts ; 
Now  you  are  got  into  a  nearer  room 

Of  fellowship,  professing  my  old  arts. 
And  you  do  do  them  well,  with  good  applause, 

Which  you  have  justly  gained  from  the  stage, 
By  observation  of  those  comic  laws 

Which  I,  your  master,  first  did  teach  the  age. 

1  To  make  the  language  sweet,  Sec."]  From  Chaucer.  It  is  a 
pretty  compliment  to  Henrietta,  who  had  probably  encouraged 
the  work,  from  an  attachment  to  her  native  tunes. 

*  The  Northern  Lass.]  These  lines  are  addressed,  "To  my 
faithful  servant,  and  (by  his  continued  virtue)  my  loving  friend, 
the  author  of  this  work,  mastor  Richard  Brome.  1632."  I  have 
already  noticed  the  attempts  of  Randolph  and  others  to  create  a 
feeling  of  hostility  in  our  poet  towards  Brome.  That  they  met 
with  no  success  is  evident ;  for  Jonson  always  remained  warmly 
attached  to  his  old  and  meritorious  servant,  and  Brome  con. 
tinued  no  less  grateful  and  affectionate  towards  his  generous 
master.  Even  after  Jonson's  death,  the  kindness  of  the  latter 
breaks  out  in  a  little  poem  to  the  memory  of  Fletcher : 

"  I  knew  him,  (Fletcher) — 

I  knew  him  in  his  strength  ;  even  then,  when  HE. 
That  was  the  master  of  his  art,  and  me, 
Most  knowing  Jonson,  proud  to  call  him  son, 
In  friendly  envy  swore  he  had  outdone 
His  very  self,"  &c. 

Aa2 


356  UNDERWOODS. 

You  learnt  it  well,  and  for  it  serv'd  your  time, 

A  prenticeship,  which  few  do  now  a  days  : 
Noweach  court  hobby-horse  will  wince  in  rhyme, 

Both  learned,  and  unlearned,  all  write  plays.1 
It  was  not  so  of  old  :  men  took  up  trades 

That  knew  the  crafts  they  had  been  bred  in 

right ; 
An  honest  bilboe-smith  would  make  good  blades, 

And  the  physician  teach  men  spew  and 

The  cobler  kept  him  to  his  awl ;  but  now, 
He'll  be  a  poet,  scarce  can  guide  a  plough. 


XXIX. 

A     SPEECH4 

At  a  Tilting. 

Two  noble  knights,  whom  true  desire,  and  zeal, 
Hath  arm'd   at   all   points,   charge  me  humbly 
kneel 

3  Both  learned  and  unlearned  do]  write  plays,  &c.]  "  Though 
this,"  says  the  watchful  Langbaine, "  be  an  imitation  of  Horace, 
yet  I  doubt  not  but  the  reader  will  pardon  Ben  for  his  ingenious 
application  : 

Ncccem  agere  ignarus  navis  timet:  abrotonum  eegro 
Non  audet)  nisi  qui  didicit,  dare.   Quod  medicorum  est 
Promittunt  medici :  tractantfabriliafabri. 
Scribimus  indocti  doctique  poemat a  passim. 
*  This  SPEECH,  which  was  copied  from  Ashmole's  MSS.  and 
kindly  transmitted   to  me  by  Mr.  Bliss,  is  said  to  have  been 
"  presented  to  king  James  at  a  tilting,  in  the  behalf  of  the  two 
noble  brothers,  sir  Robert  and  sir  Henry  Rich." 

The  lines  hare  no  date,  but  were  probably  produced  on  one 
of  those  festive  occasions  to  which  the  attachment  of  prince 
Henry  to  martial  exercises  gave  birth.  It  was  the  first 
appearance,  perhaps,  of  the  brothers  in  arms  ;  and  this  address 
of  the  knight,  who  presented  them  to  the  sovereign,  fonoed  a 


UNDERWOODS.  357 

To  thee,  O  king  of  men,  their  noblest  parts 

To  tender  thus,  their  lives,  their  loves,    their 

hearts. 

The  elder  of  these  two5  rich  hopes  increase, 
Presents  a  royal  altar  of  fair  peace ; 
And,  as  an  everlasting  sacrifice, 
His  life,  his  love,  his  honour  which  ne'er  dies, 
He  freely  brings,  and  on  this  altar  lays 
As  true  oblations.    His  brother's  emblem  says, 
Except  your  gracious  eye,  as  through  a  glass, 
Made  perspective,  behold  him,  he  must  pass 
Still  that  same  little  point  he  was ;  but  when 
Your  royal  eye,  which  still  creates  new  men, 
Shall  look,  and  on  him,  so, — then  art's  a  liar, 
If,  from  a  little  spark,  he  rise  not  fir*. 

part  of  the  entertainment :  for  these  little  tournaments  were 
usually  prefaced  with  some  kind  of  poetical  fable. 

5  The  elder  of  these  two.~]  These  youths  were  the  sons  of 
Robert  Rich,  first  earl  of  Warwick,  by  the  too  celebrated 
sister  of  the  earl  of  Essex.  Robert,  the  elder,  succeeded  his 
father,  as  earl  of  Warwick,  in  1618.  He  protests  much  (like 
Hamlet's  player-queen)  in  his  speech,  and  he  kept  his  word 
somewhat  in  the  same  manner.  James  was  scarcely  dead,  when 
he  deserted  his  successor,  threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  the 
parliament,  took  the  command  of  the  fleet,  and  carried  on  a 
thriving  trade,  as  Lord  Clarendon  says,  "  in  the  desperate 
commodity  of  rebellion.''  His  brother,  Henry  Rich,  notwith- 
standing his  emblem,  or  impress,  trod  in  Sir  Robert's  steps. 
James  loaded  him  with  favours,  and  not  long  before  his  death 
created  him  earl  of  Holland.  Fresh  honours  were  conferred 
upon  him  by  Charles,  in  return  for  which  he  deserted  and  be- 
trayed him.  He  was  not  long  in  receiving  his  reward  from  his 
new  masters,  who,  less  scrupulous  than  his  indulgent  sovereign, 
deprived  him  of  his  head  for  some  alleged  tergiversation,  in!649. 


358  UNDERWOODS. 

XXX. 

AN  EPISTLE  TO  SIR  EDWARD  SACKVILE, 
Now  earl  of  Dorset* 

If,  Sackvile,  all  that  have  the  power  to  do 
Great  and  good  turns,  as  well  could  time  them 
too, 

6  An  Epistle  to  sir  Edward  Sackvile.]  At  that  time  lord 
chamberlain ;  he  succeeded  his  father,  Thomas  Sackvile,  in  the 
title  of  earl  of  Dorset,  who  died  suddenly  at  the  council. table 
in  1608.  WHJLL. 

We  hare  here  a  cluster  of  mistakes.  The  father  of  sir  Edward 
Sackvile  was  not  Thomas,  but  Robert,  second  earl  of  Dorset, 
his  son;  nor  did  Edward  succeed  his  father,  but  his  elder 
brother  Richard,  third  earl  of  Dorset,  who  died  in  1624.  What 
Whalley  means  by  at  that  time  lord  chamberlain,  it  is  difficult 
to  say.  There  is  no  allusion  to  any  such  office  in  the  poem, 
nor  could  there  be,  for  the  earl  of  Dorset  was  not  made  cham- 
berlain till  1642,  five  years  after  the  poet's  death. 

This  sir  Edward  Sackvile  is  the  person  who  engaged  in  that 
ferocious  and  fatal  duel  with  the  lord  Bruce,  of  which  the  inter- 
esting account  given  by  himself  was  copied  into  the  Guardian, 
from  the  MS.  in  the  library  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford. 

This  affair  took  place  in  1613,  when  he  was  only  three  and 
twenty.  Afterwards,  however,  he  nobly  redeemed  his  extrava- 
gancies, and  became  one  of  the  brightest  characters  of  his  day. 
Lord  Clarendon  says  that  "  hi»  person  was  beautiful,  graceful, 
and  vigorous ;  his  wit  pleasant,  sparkling,  and  sublime,  and  his 
other  parts  of  learning  and  language  of  that  lustre,  that  he  could 
not  miscarry  in  the  world." 

This  "  Epistle''  was  the  favourite  poem  of  Home  Tooke.  He 
had  it  by  heart,  and  delighted  to  quote  it  on  all  occasions.  Its 
date  may  be  pretty  nearly  ascertained  by  the  expression  <c  now 
earl  of  Dorset,''  which  seems  to  imply  that  sir  Edward  had  not 
long  enjoyed  the  title.  He  returned  to  England,  from  Italy,  on 
hearing  of  the  death  of  his  brother,  which  took  place  the  28th 
of  March,  1624:  and  the  poet  probably  addressed  him  soon 
after  1625,  when  sickness  and  want  first  assailed  him. 

There  is  great  vigour  of  thought,  and  strength  of  expression, 
in  this  rough  epistle.  The  predilection  of  Home  Tooke  for  it 
throws  no  discredit  on  hi»  judgment. 


UNDERWOODS.  35Q 

And   knew  their  how,  and  where ;   we  should 

have  then 

Less  list  of  proud,  hard,  or  ungrateful  men. 
For  benefits  are  ow'd  with  the  same  mind 
As  they  are  done,  and  such  returns  they  find : 
You  then,  whose  will  not  only,  but  desire 
To  succour  my  necessities,  took  fire, 
Not  at  my  prayers,  but  your  sense  ;    which  laid 
The  way  to  meet  what  others  would  upbraid, 
And  in  the  act  did  so  my  blush  prevent, 
As  I  did  feel  it  done,  as  soon  as  meant ; 
You  cannot  doubt,  but  I  who  freely  know 
This  good  from  you,  as  freely  will  it  owe; 
And  though  my  fortune  humble  me,  to  take 
The  smallest  courtesies  with  thanks,  I  make 
Yet  choice  from  whom  I  take  them  ;  and  would 

shame 

To  have  such  do  me  good,  I  durst  not  name. 
They  are  the  noblest  benefits,  and  sink 
Deepest  in  man,  of  which,  when  he  doth  think, 
The  memory  delights  him  more,  from  whom 
Than  what,  he  hath  receiv'd.    Gifts  stink  from 

some, 

They  are  so  long  a  coming,  and  so  hard  ; 
Where  any  deed  is  forced,  the  grace  is  marr'd. 

Can  I  owe  thanks  for  courtesies  received 
Against   his   will  that  does   them?    that   hath 

weaved 

Excuses  or  delays  ?  or  done  them  scant, 
That  they    have   more   opprest  me    than    my 

want? 

Or  if  he  did  it  not  to  succour  me, 
But  by  mere  chance?  for  interest?  or  to  free 
Himself  of  farther  trouble,  or  the  weight 
Of  pressure,  like  one  taken  in  a  strait? 
All  this  corrupts  the  thanks :  less  hath  he  won, 
That  puts  it  in  his  debt- book  erc't  be  done  ; 


360  UNDERWOODS. 

Or  that  doth  sound  a  trumpet,  and  doth  cal! 
His  grooms  to  witness  :  or  else  lets  it  fall 
In  that  proud  manner,  as  a  good  so  gain'd, 
Must  make  me  sad  for  what  I  have  obtain'd. 
No !  gifts  and  thanks  should  have  one  cheerful 

face, 

So  each  that's  done,  and  ta'en,  becomes  a  brace. 
He  neither  gives,  or  does,  that  doth  delay 
A  benefit,  or  that  doth  throw't  away; 
No  more  than  he  doth  thank,  that  will  receive 
Nought  but  in  corners,  and  is  loth  to  leave 
Least  air,  or  print,  but  flies  it :  such  men  would 
Run  from  the  conscience  of  it,  if  they  could. 

As  I  have  seen  some  infants  of  the  sword 
Well  known,  and  practised  borrowers  on  their 

word, 

Give  thanks  by  stealth,  and  whispering  in  the  ear, 
For  what  they  straight  would  to  the  world  for- 
swear ; 
And  speaking  worst  of  those,  from  whom  they 

went 

But  then  fist-fill'd,  to  put  me  off  the  scent. 
Now,  d— n  me,  sir,  if  you  shall  not  command 
My  sword,  ('tis  but  a  poor  sword,  understand,) 
As  far  as  any  poor  sword  in  the  land  ; 
Then  turning  unto  him  is  next  at  hand, 
Damns  whom  he  damn'd  too,  is  the  veriest  gull, 
Has  feathers,  and  will  serve  a  man  to  pull. 
Are  they  not  worthy  to  be  answer'd  so, 
That  to  such  natures  let  their  full  hands  flow, 
And  seek  no  wants  to  succour;  but  enquire, 
Like  money-brokers,  after  names,  and  hire 
Their  bounties  forth,  to  him  that  last  was  made, 
Or  stands  to  be  in  commission  o'  the  blade? 
Still,  still  the  hunters  of  false  fame  apply 
Their  thoughts  and  means  to  making  loud  the 
cry, 


UNDERWOODS.  361 

But  one  is  bitten  by  the  dog  he  fed, 

And  hurt,  seeks  cure ;    the  surgeon  bids  take 

bread, 

And  sponge-like  with  it  dry  up  the  blood  quite, 
Then  give  it  to  the  hound  that  did  him  bite : 
Pardon,  says  he,  that  were  a  way  to  see 
All  the  town  curs  take  each  their  snatch  at  me.7 
O,  is  it  so  ?  knows  he  so  much,  and  will 
Feed  those  at  whom  the  table  points  at  still? 
I  not  deny  it,  but  to  help  the  need 
Of  any,  is  a  great  and  generous  deed ; 
Yea,  of  the  ingrateful;  and  he  forth  must  tell 
Many  a  pound,  and  piece,  will  place  one  well. 
But  these  men  ever  want :  their  very  trade 
Is  borrowing ;  that  but  stopt,  they  do  invade 
All  as  their  prize,  turn  pirates  here  at  land, 
Have  their  Bermudas,  and  their  Streights  i'  the 

Strand : 

Man  out  their  boats  to  the  Temple,  and  not  shift 
Now,  but  command  ;  make  tribute  what  was  gift; 
And  it  is  paid  them  with  a  trembling  zeal, 
And  superstition,  I  dare  scarce  reveal, 
If  it  were  clear;  but  being  so  in  cloud 
Carried  and  wrapt,  I  only  am  allow'd 
My  wonder,  why  the  taking  a  clown's  purse, 
Or  robbing  the  poor  market-folks,  should  nurse 
Such  a  religious  horror  in  the  breasts 
Of  our  town-gallantry  !  or  why  there  rests 
Such  worship  due  to  kicking  of  a  punk, 
Or  swaggering  with  the  watch,  or  drawer  drunk  ; 
Or  feats  of  darkness  acted  in  mid-sun, 
And  told  of  with  more  license  than  they're  done! 

"  Pardon,  says  he,  that  were  a  way  to  see 

All  the  town.curs  take  each  their  snatch  at  me."]  The  allusion 
is  to  a  fable  of  Pfadrus,  who  makes  ^Esop  the  author  of  it. 

WlIAL. 

For  the  Bermudas,  &c.  see  vol.  iv.  p.  429, 


362  UNDERWOODS. 

Sure  there  is  mystery  in  it  I  not  know, 

That  men  such  reverence  to  such  actions  show, 

And  almost  deify  the  authors  !  make 

Loud  sacrifice  of  drink,  for  their  health's  sake  : 

Rear  suppers  in  their  names,  and  spend  whole 

nights 

Unto  their  praise  in  certain  swearing  rites  ! 
Cannot  a  man  be  reckoned  in  the  state 
Of  valour,  but  at  this  idolatrous  rate  ? 
I  thought  that  fortitude  had  heen  a  mean ' 
'Twixt  fear  and  rashness  ;  not  a  lust  obscene, 
Or  appetite  of  offending,  but  a  skill, 
Or  science  of  discerning  good  and  ill. 
And  you,  sir,  know  it  well,  to  whom  I  write, 
That  with  these  mixtures  we  put  out  her  light; 
Her  ends  are  honesty,  and  public  good  : 
And  where  they  want,  she  is  not  understood. 
No  more  are  these  of  us  ;  let  them  then  go, 
I  have  the  list  of  mine  own  faults  to  know, 
Look  to,  and  cure  :  he's  not  a  man  hath  none, 
But  like  to  be,  that  every  day  mends  one, 
And  feels  it ;  else  he  tarries  by  the  beast. 
Can  I  discern  how  shadows  are  decreast, 
Or  grown,  by  height  or  lowness  of  the  sun, 
And  can  I  less  of  substance?  when  I  ruo, 
Ride,  sail,  am  coach'd,  know  I  how  far  I  have 

gone ; 
And  my  mind's  motion  not?  or  have  I  none? 

8  I  thought  that  fortitude  had  been  a  mean,  &c,]  This  subject 
the  poet  subsequently  dilated  upon  in  the  New  Inn.  The  name 
of  this  unfortunate  piece  is  never  mentioned  now  without  a 
scornful  sneer  at  the  dotage  which  produced  it.  As  a  whole, 
indeed,  much  cannot  be  said  in  its  favour,  but  it  may  safely  be 
pronounced  that  the  observations  of  Lovel  on  truevalour,  (vol.  v. 
p.  412,-lSj)  to  which  the  line  just  quoted  has  been  referred, 
•will  not  be  easily  paralleled  for  justness  of  thought,  vigour  of 
sentiment,  and  beauty  of  expression,  in  this  or  any  other 
language. 


UNDERWOODS.  363 

No  !  he  must  feel  and  know,  that  will  advance. 
Men  have  been  great,  but  never  good  by  chance, 
Or  on  the  sudden.    It  were  strange  that  he 
Who  was  this  morning  such  a  one,  should  be 
Sydney  ere  night !  or  that  did  go  to  bed 
Coryat,  should  rise  the  most  sufficient  head 
Of  Christendom  ;  and  neither  of  these  know, 
Were  the  rack  ofTer'd  them,  how  they  came  so  ! 
'Tis  by  degrees  that  men  arrive  at  glad 
Profit  in  aught ;  each  day  some  little  add, 
In  time  'twill  be  a  heap  :  this  is  not  true 
Alone  in  money,  but  in  manners  too. 
Yet  we  must  more  than  move  still,  or  go  on, 
We  must  accomplish  :  'tis  the  last  key-stone 
That  makes  the  arch ;  the  rest  that  there  were 

put 

Are  nothing  till  that  comes  to  bind  and  shut. 
Then  stands  it  a  triumphal  mark  !   then  men 
Observe  the  strength,  the  height,  the  why,  and 

when 

It  was  erected  :  and  still  walking  under, 
Meet  some  new  matter  to  look  up  and  wonder  ! 
Such  notes  are  virtuous  men  !  they  live  as  fast 
As  they  are  high  ;  are  rooted,  and  will  last. 
They  need  no  stilts,  nor  rise  upon  their  toes, 
As  if  they  would  belie  their  stature;  those 
Are  dwarfs  of  honour,  and  have  neither  weight 
Nor  fashion ;  if  they  chance  aspire  to  height, 
'Tis  like  light  canes,  that  first  rise  big  and  brave, 
Shoot  forth  in  smooth  and  comely  spaces ;  have 
Bat  few  and  fair  divisions:  but  being  got 
Aloft,  grow  less  and  straighten'd  ;  full  of  knot, 
And  last,  go  out  in  nothing !  you  that  see 
Their    difference,    cannot    choose   which   you 

will  be. 

You  know  (without  my  flattering  you)  too  much 
For  me  to  be  your  indice.  Keep  you  such, 


364 

That  I  may  love  your  person,  as  I  do, 
Without  your  gift,  though  I  can  rate  that  too> 
By  thanking  thus  the  courtesy  to  life, 
Which  you  will  bury  ;  but  therein,  the  strife 
May  grow  so  great  to  be  example,  when, 
As  their  true  rule  or  lesson,  either  men, 
Donors  or  donees,  to  their  practice  shall 
Find  you  to  reckon  nothing,  me  owe  all. 


XXXI. 

AN  EPISTLE 
To  MASTER  JOHN  SELDEN.* 

1  know  to  whom  I  write;  here,  I  am  sure, 
Though  I  be  short,  I  cannot  be  obscure:* 

9  This  Epistle,  as  the  folio  calls  it,  is  prefixed  to  the  first 
edition  of  Selden's  Titles  of  Honour ,  1614,  with  this  address: 
u  Ben  Jonson  to  his  honoured  friend,  master  John  Selden." 

There  was  an  extraordinary  degree  of  kindness  between 
these  two  most  learned  men,  which  continued  to  the  end  of 
Jonson's  life.  They  communicated  their  works,  and  mutually 
assisted  each  other.  Selden,  who  was  above  flattery,  affectio- 
nately addresses  our  author  in  the  work  here  mentioned,  as  one 
that  was 

omnia  carmina  doctus9 

Et  callet  mythut  plasms  t  a,  et  kistoriam. 

And  he,  who  was  superior  to  envy,  speaks  with  conscious  pride 
of  the  aid  which  he  derived  from  Selden's  unbounded  acquaint- 
ance with  literary  subjects. 

Selden's  life  was  useful,  and  his  death  instructive.  He  was 
drawn  in  by  the  crooked  politics  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived ; 
but  he  escaped  from  them  to  his  studies,  at  every  convenient 
opportunity  ;  and  though  he  might  be  sometimes  dissatisfied,  he 
was  never  factious. 

1  Though  I  be  short,  &c.] 

"  '•    brcvis esse  laboro, 
Obscurusjio. 


UNDERWOODS.  365 

Less  shall  I  for  the  art  or  dressing  care, 
Truth  and  the  Graces  best  when  naked  are. 
Your  book  my  SELDEN,  I  have  read  ;  and  much 
Was  trusted,  that  you  thought  my  judgment  such 
To  ask  it :  though,  in  most  of  works,  it  be 
A  penance  where  a  man  may  not  be  free, 
Rather  than  office  ;  when  it  doth,  or  may 
Chance,  that  the  friend's  affection  proves  allay 
Unto  the  censure,    Your's  all  need  doth  fly 
Of  this  so  vicious  humanity  ; 
Than  which,  there  is  not  unto  study  a  more 
Pernicious  enemy.  We  see  before 
A  many'  of  books,  even  good  judgments  wound 
Themselves,  through  favouring  that  is  there  not 

found  ; 

But  I  to  your's  far  otherwise  shall  do, 
Not  fly  the  crime,  but  the  suspicion  too: 
Though  I  confess  (as  every  muse  hath  err'd, 
And  mine  not  least)  I  have  too  oft  preferr'd 
Men  past  their  terms,  and  prais'd  some  names  too 

much ; 

But  'twas  with  purpose  to  have  made  them  such. 
Since,  being  deceiv'd,  I  turn  a  sharper  eye 
Upon  myself,  and  ask  to  whom,  and  why, 
And  what  I  write  ?  and  vex  it  many  days 
Before  men  get  a  verse,  much  less  a  praise ; 
So  that  my  reader  is  assured,  I  now 
Mean  what  I  speak,  and  still  will  keep  that  vow. 
Stand    forth  my  object,  then.     You  that  have 

been 

Ever  at  home,  yet  have  all  countries  seen  ; 
And  like  a  compass,  keeping  one  foot  still 
Upon  your  centre,  do  your  circle  fill 
Of  general   knowledge ;  watch'd  men,  manners 

too 
Heard    what  times   past  have  said,    seen  what 

ours  do ! 


366  UNDERWOODS. 

Which  grace  shall  I  make  love  to  first^  your  skill, 
Or  faith  in  things  ?  or  is't  your  wealth  and  will 
T'  inform  and  teach  ?  or  your  unwearied  pain 
Of  gathering  ?  bounty  in  pouring  out  again? 
What  fables  have  you  vex'd,  what  truth  redeem'd, 
Antiquities  search'd,  opinions  disesteem'd, 
Impostures  branded,  and  authorities  urg'd  ! 
What  blots  and  errors  have   you  watch'd  and 

purg'd 

Records  and  authors  of!  how  rectified 
Times,  manners,  customs!  innovations  spied! 
Sought  out  the  fountains,  sources,  creeks,  paths, 

ways, 

And  noted  the  beginnings  and  decays ! 
Where  is  that  nominal  mark,  or  real  rite, 
Form,  act,   or    ensign,    that   hath   scaped   your 

sight? 

How  are  traditions  there  examin'd  !  how 
Conjectures  retriev'd  !  and  a  story  now 
And  then  of  times  (besides  the  bare  conduct 
Of  what  it  tells  us)  weav'd  in  to  instruct ! 
I  wonder'd  at  the  richness,  but  am  lost, 
To  see  the  workmanship  so'  exceed  the  cost ! 
To  mark  the  excellent  seasoning  of  your  style, 
And  manly  elocution  !  not  one  while 
With  horror  rough,  then  rioting  with  wit ; 
But  to  the  subject  still  the  colours  fit, 
In  sharpness  of  all  search,  wisdom  of  choice, 
Newness  of  sense,  antiquity  of  voice  ! 

I  yield,  I  yield.    The  matter  of  your  praise 
Flows  in  upon  me,  and  I  cannot  raise 
A  bank  against  it :  nothing  but  the  round 
Large  clasp  of  Nature  such  a  wit  can  bound. 
Monarch  in  letters !  'mongst  the  Titles  shown 
Of  others  honours,  thus  enjoy  thy  own. 
I  first  salute  thee  so ;  and  gratulate 
With  that  thy  style,  thy  keeping  of  thy  state ; 


UNDERWOODS.  367 

In  offering  this  thy  work  to  no  great  name, 
That  would,  perhaps,  have  praised  and  thank'd 

the  same, 

But  nought  beyond.    He,  thou  hast  given  it  to," 
Thy  learned  chamber- fellow,  knows  to  do 
It  true  respects  :  he  will  not  only  love, 
Embrace,  and  cherish ;  but  he  can  approve 
And  estimate  thy  pains,  as  having  wrought 
In  the  same  mines  of  knowledge;  and  thence 

brought 

Humanity  enough  to  be  a  friend, 
And  strength  to  be  a  champion,  and  defend 
Thy  gift  'gainst  envy.     O  how  I  do  count 
Among  my  comings  in,  and  see  it  mount, 
The  gain  of  two  such  friendships  !  Heyward  and 
Selden  !  two  names  that  so  much  understand  ! 
On  whom  I  could  take  up,  and  ne'er  abuse 
The  credit,  that  would  furnish  a  tenth  muse  ! 
But  here's  no  time  nor  place  my  wealth  to  tell, 
You  both  are  modest.     So  am  I.  Farewell. 

XXXII. 

AN  EPISTLE  TO  A  FRIEND, 
(MASTER  COLBY,) 

TO  PERSUADE  HIM  TO  THE  WARS. 

Wake,  friend,  from  forth  thy  lethargy !  the  drum 
Beats  brave  and  loud  in  Europe,  and  bids  come 
All  that  dare  rouse  :  or  are  not  loth  to  quit 
Their  vicious  ease,  and  be  o'erwhelm'd  with  it. 

He,  thou  hast  given  it  to, 

Thy  learned  chamber-fellow,  &c.]  The  rolnme  is  dedicated 
by  Selden  to  "  my  most  beloved  friend,  and  chamber-fellow,  Ed- 
ward Heyward,  of  Cardeston,  in  Norfolk,  Esq.'' 


368  UNDERWOODS. 

It  is  a  call  to  keep  the  spirits  alive 
That  gasp  for  action,  and  would  yet  revive 
Man's  buried  honour,  in  his  sleepy  life : 
Quickning  dead  nature  to  her  noblest  strife. 
All  other  acts  of  worldlings  are  but  toil 
In  dreams,  begun  in  hope,  and  end  in  spoil. 
Look  on  the  ambitious  man,  and  see  him  nurse 
His    unjust    hopes    with    praises    begg'd,    or, 

worse, 

Bought  flatteries,  the  issue  of  his  purse, 
Till  he  become  both  their  and  his  own  curse  ! 
Look  on  the  false  and  cunning  man,  that  loves 
No  person,  nor  is  loved  :  what  ways  he  proves 
To  gain  upon  his  belly  ;  and  at  last 
Crush 'd  in  the  snaky  brakes  that  he  had  past ! 
See  the  grave,  sour,  and  supercilious  sir, 
In  outward  face,  but  inward,  light  as  fur, 
Or  feathers,  lay  his  fortune  out  to  show, 
Till  envy  wound  or  maim  it  at  a  blow  ! 
See  him  that's  call'd,  and  thought  the  happiest 

man, 

Honour'd  at  once,  and  envied  (if  it  can 
Be  honour  is  so  mix'd)  by  such  as  would 
For  all  their  spite,  be  like  him,  if  they  could  : 
No  part  or  corner  man  can  look  upon, 
But  there  are  objects  bid  him  to  be  gone 
As  far  as  he  can  fly,  or  follow  day, 
Rather  than  here  so  bogg'd  in  vices  stay. 
The  whole  world  here  leaven'd  with  madness 

swells; 

And  being  a  thing  blown  out  of  nought,  rebels 
Against  his  Maker,  high  alone  with  weeds, 
And  impious  rankness  of  all  sects  and  seeds  : 
Not  to  be  check'd  or  frighted  now  with  fate, 
But  more  licentious  made  and  desperate  ! 
Our  delicacies  are  grown  capital, 
And  even  our  sports  are  dangers  !  what  we  call 


UNDERWOODS,  369 

Friendship,  is  now  mask'd  hatred  !  justice  fled, 
And  shamefac'dness  together  !  all  laws  dead 
That  kept  man  living !  pleasures  only  sought ! 
Honour  and  honesty,  as  pcor  things  thought 
As  they  are  made !  pride  and  stiffclownage  mix'd 
To  make  up  greatness  !  and  man's  whole  good 

fix'd 

In  bravery,  or  gluttony,  or  coin, 
All  which  he  makes  the  servants  of  the  groin! 
Thither  it  flows:  how  much  did  Stallion  spend 
To  have  his  court-bred  filly  there  commend 
His  lace  and  starch ;  and  fall  upon  her  back 
In  admiration,  stretch'd  upon  the  rack 
Of  lust,  to  his  rich  suit,  and  title,  Lord  ? 
Ay,  that's  a  charm  and  half!  she  must  afford 
That  all  respect,  she  must  lie  down ;  nay,  more, 
Tis  there  civility  to  be  a  whore : 
He's  one  of  blood  and  fashion  !  and  with  these 
The  bravery  makes  she  can  no  honour  leese : 
To  do't  with  cloth,  or  stuffs,  lust's  name  might 

merit, 
With  velvet,  plush,  and  tissues,  it  is  spirit. 

O  these  so  ignorant  monsters,  light,  as  proud! 
Who  can  behold  their  manners,  and  not  cloud- 
Like,  on  them  lighten  ?   If  that  nature  could 
Not  make  a  verse,  anger  or  laughter  would, 

If  Nature  could 

Not  make  a  verse^  &c.j  This  epistle,  which  possesses  no 
ordinary  degree  of  merit,  partakes  of  the  nature  of  satire.  The 
author  had  hi»  faTourite,  Horace,  in  view,  when  he  drew  it  up, 
though  the  particular  allusion  in  the  quotation  is  to  Juvenal : 

Si  natura  negat^facit  indignatio  vcrsum, 
The  couplet  just  above, 

To  do't  with  chth,  &c.  is  also  from  this  author,  but  in  a  higher 
tone: 

alea  turpis 

Turpe  et  adulterium  mediocribus,  hcec  eadem  illi 
Omnia  cumfaciant  nitidi  Moresque  vocantvr.    Sat,  xi. 

VOL.  viii.  B  b 


370  UNDERWOODS. 

To  see  them  aye  discoursing  with  their  glass, 
How  they  may  make  some  one  that  day  an  ass, 
Planting  their  purls,  and  curls,  spread  forth  like 

net, 
And  every  dressing  for  a  pit-fall  set 

To  catch  the  flesh  in,  and  to  pound  a 

Be  at  their  visits,  see  them  squeamish,  sick, 

Ready  to  cast  atone  whose  band  sits  ill, 

And  then  leap  mad  on  a  neat  picardill, 

As  if  a  hrize  were  gotten  in  their  tail ; 

And  firk,  and  jerk,  and  for  the  coachman  rail, 

And  jealous  each  of  other,  yet  think  long 

To  be  abroad  chanting  some  bawdy  song, 

And   laugh,  and  measure  thighs,  then  squeak, 

spring,  itch, 

Do  all  the  tricks  of  a  salt  lady  bitch ! 
For  t'other  pound  of  sweetmeats,  he  shall  feel 
That  pays,  or  what  he  will :    the  dame  is  steel. 
For  these  with  her  young  company  she'll  enter, 
Where  Pitts,   or  Wright,  or  Modet  would  not 

venture ; 

And  comes  by  these  degrees  the  style  t'inherit 
Of  woman  of  fashion,  and  a  lady  of  spirit. 
Nor  is  the  title  question'd  with  our  proud, 
Great,  brave,and  fashion'd  folk,  these  are  allow'd ; 
Adulteries  now  are  not  so  hid,  or  strange, 
They're  grown  commodity  upon  Exchange; 
He  that  will  follow  but  another's  wife, 
Is  loved,  though  he  let  out  his  own  for  life; 
The  husband  now's  call'd  churlish,  or  a  poor 
Nature,  that  will  not  let  his  wife  be  a  whore  ; 
Or  use  all  arts,  or  haunt  all  companies 
That  may  corrupt  her,  even  in  his  eyes. 
The  brother  trades  a  sister,  and  the  friend 
Lives  to  the  lord,  but  to  the  lady's  end. 
Less  must  not  be  thought  on  than  mistress ;  or 
If  it  be  thought,  kill'd  like  her  embrionsj  for 


UNDERWOODS.  371 

"Whom  no  great  mistress  hath  as  yet  infam'd 
A  fellow  of  coarse  letchery,  is  nam'd, 
The  servant  of  the  serving- woman,  in  scorn, 
Ne'er  came  to  taste  the  plenteous  marriage-horn. 
Thus  they  do  talk.    And  are  these  objects  fit 
For  man  so  spend  his  money  on?  his  wit? 
His  time?  health?  soul?  Will  he  for  these  go 

throw 

Those  thousands  on  his  back,  shall  after  blow 
His  body  to  the  Counters,  or  the  Fleet  ? 
Is  it  for  these  that  Fine-man  meets  the  street 
Coach'd,  or  on  foot-cloth,  thrice  chang'd  every 

day, 

To  teach  each  suit  he  has,  the  ready  way 
From  Hyde-park  to  the  stage,  where  at  the  last 
His  dear  and  borrow'd  bravery  he  must  cast? 
When  not  his  combs,  his  curling-irons,  his  glass, 
Sweet  bags,  sweet  powders,  nor  sweet  words  will 

pass 

For  less  security.  O  heavens  !  for  these 
Is  it  that  man  pulls  on  himself  disease, 
Surfeit,  and  quarrel?  drinks  the  t'other  health  ? 
Or  by  damnation  voids  it,  or  by  stealth? 

What  fury  of  late  is  crept  into  our  feasts  ? 
What  honour  given  to  the  drunkenest  guests? 
What  reputation  to  bear  one  glass  more, 
When  oft  the  bearer  is  born  out  of  door  ? 
This  hath  our  ill-us'd  freedom,  and  soft  peace 
Brought  on  us,  and  will  every  hour  increase. 
Our  vices  do  not  tarry  in  a  place, 
But  being  in  motion  still,  or  rather  in  race, 
Tilt  one  upon  another,  and  now  bear 
This  way,  now  that,  as  if  their  number  were 
More  than  themselves,  or  than  our  lives  could 

take, 

But  both  fell  prest  under  the  load  they  make. 

Bb  2 


572  UNDERWOODS. 

I'll  bid  thee look  no  more,  but  flee,  flee,  friend, 
This  precipice,  and  rocks  that  have  no  end, 
Or  side,  but  threatens  ruin.     The  whole  day 
Is  not  enough,  now,  but  the  nights  to  play  : 
And  whilst  our  states,  strength,  body,  and  mind 

we  waste, 

Go  make  ourselves  the  usurers  at  a  cast. 
He  that  no  more  for  age,  cramps,  palsies  can 
Now  use  the  bones,  we  see  doth  hire  a  man 
To  take  the  box  up  for  him ;  and  pursues 
The  dice  with  glassen  eyes,  to  the  glad  views 
Of  what  he  throws  :  likeletchers  grown  content 
To  be  beholders,  when  their  powers  are  spent. 

Can  we  not  leave  this  worm  ?  or  will  we  not? 
Is  that  the  truer  excuse  ?  or  have  we  got 
In  this,  and  like,  an  itch  of  vanity, 
That  scratching  now's  our  best  felicity? 
Well,  let  it  go.     Yet  this  is  better,  then 
To  lose  the  forms  arid  dignities  of  men, 
To  flatter  my  good  lord,  and  cry  his  bowl 
Runs  sweetly,  as  it  had  his  lordship's  soul : 
Although,  perhaps  it  has,  what's  that  to  me, 
That  may  stand  by,  and  hold  my  peace?  will  he, 
When  I  am  hoarse  with  praising  his  each  cast, 
Give  me  but  that  again,  that  I  must  waste 
In  sugar  candied,  or  in  butter'd  beer, 
For  the  recovery  of  my  voice  ?  No,  there 
Pardon  his  lordship;  flatt'ry's  grown  so  cheap 
With  him,  for  he  is  followed  with  that  heap, 
That  watch  and   catch,  at  what  they  may  ap- 
plaud, 

As  a  poor  single  flatterer,  without  bawd 
Is  nothing,  such  scarce  meat  and  drink  he'll  give 
But  he  that's  both,  and  slave  to  both,  shall  live, 
And  be  belov'd,  while  the  whores  last.    O  times  ! 
Friend,  fly  from  hence,  and  let  these  kindled 
rhymes 


UNDERWOODS.  373 

Light  thee  from  hell  on  earth;  where  flatterers, 

spies, 

Informers,  masters  both  of  arts  and  lies  ; 
Lewd  slanderers,  soft  whisperers,  that  let  blood 
The  life,  and  fame-veins,  yet  not  understood 
Of  the  poor  sufferers;  where  the  envious,  proud, 
Ambitious,  factious,  superstitious,  loud 
Boasters,  and  perjur'd,  with  the  infinite  more 
Prevaricators  swarm  :  of  which  the  store 
(Because  they're  every  where  amongst  mankind 
Spread  through  the  world)  is  easier  far  to  find, 
Than  once  to  number,  or  bring  forth  to  hand, 
Though  thou  wert  Muster-master  of  the  laud. 

Go,  quit  them  all!  And  take  along  with  thee, 
Thy  true  friend's  wishes,  COLBY,'  which  shall  be, 
That  thine  be  just  and  honest,  that  thy  deeds 
Not    wound   thy   conscience,    when    thy   body 

bleeds ; 
That  thou  dost  all  things  more  for  truth  than 

glory, 

And  never  but  for  doing  wrong  be  sorry  ; 
That  by  commanding  first  thyself,  thou  mak'st 
Thy  person  fit  for  any  charge  thou  tak'st: 
That  fortune  never  make  thee  to  complain, 
But  what  she  gives,  thou  dar'st  give  her  again ; 
That  whatsoever  face  thy  fate  puts  on, 
Thou  shrink  or  start  not ;  but  be  always  one  ; 
That    thou  think    nothing    great    but  what  is 

good; 

And  from  that  thought  strive  to  be  understood. 
So,  'live  or  dead,  thou  wilt  preserve  a  fame 
Still  precious  with  the  odour  of  thy  name. 

J      •  •-      And  take  along  with  thee 

Thy  true  friend's  -wishes,  Colby.]  The  name  of  the  person 
to  whom  this  epistle  is  addressed ;  he  appears  to  have  been  in 
the  military  service,  and  from  the  preceding  line,  was  probably 
muster-master  of  the  forces.  WUAL. 


374  UNDERWOODS. 

And  last,  blaspheme  not ;  we  did  never  hear 
Man  thought  the  valianter/cause  he  durst  swear; 
No  more,  than  we  should  think  a  lord  had  had 
More  honour  in  him,  ^fcause  we've  known  him 

mad : 

These  take,  and  now  go  seek  thy  peace  in  war7 
Who  falls  for  love  of  God,  shall  rise  a  star. 

XXXIII. 

AN  EPITAPH 
ON  MASTER  PHILIP  GRAY. 

Reader,  stay, 

And  if  I  had  no  more  to  say, 

But  here  doth  lie,  till  the  last  day, 

All  that  is  left  of  PHILIP  GRAY, 

It  might  thy  patience  richly  pay  ; 

For  if  such  men  as  he  could  die,* 
What  surety'  of  life  have  thou  and  I  ? 

*  For  if  such  men,  &c.]  The  force  of  this  Epitaph  is  not  felt, 
for  want  of  knowing  the  character  whose  fate  led  to  these 
reflections. — 

Chetwood  has  an  Epitaph  on  prince  Henry,  which  he  ascribet 
to  Jonsou,  and  which  the  reader  may  perhaps  expect  to  find 
in  a  collection  of  his  works.  I  have  little  confidence  in  this 
writer,  who  seldom  mentions  his  authorities  ;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  can  discover  nothing  of  our  author's  manner  in  the  com- 
position itself,  which  appears  to  be  patched  up  from  different 
poems,  and  is  therefore  omitted ;  though  I  hare  thought  it 
right  to  mention  the  circumstance. 


UNDERWOODS.  375 

XXXIV. 

EPISTLE 

TO  A  FRIEND. 

They  are  not,  sir,  worst  owers  that  do  pay 
Debts  when  they  can  :    good  men  may  break 

their  day, 

And  yet  the  noble  nature  never  grudge ; 
'Tis  then  a  crime,  when  the  usurer  is  judge, 
And  he  is  not  in  friendship  :  nothing  there 
Is  done  for  gain  ;  ift  be,  'tis  not  sincere. 
Nor  should  I  at  this  time  protested  be, 
But  that  some  greater  names  have  broke  with  me, 
And  their  words  too,  where  I  but  break  my  band  ;* 
I  add  that  BUT,  because  I  understand 
That  as  the  lesser  breach  :  for  he  that  takes 
Simply  my  band,  his  trust  in  me  forsakes, 
And  looks  unto  the  forfeit.  If  you  be 
Now  so  much  friend,  as  you  would  trust  in  me, 
Venture  a  longer  time,  and  willingly : 
All  is  not  barren  land  doth  fallow  lie ; 
Some  grounds  are  made  the  richer  for  the  rest ; 
And  I  will  bring  a  crop,  if  not  the  best. 

*  Where  /  but  break  my  band.]  i.  e.  whereas,  in  the  old  sense 
of  the  word.  Jonson  pleads  his  cause  well ;  and  probably  kept 
his  word  (if  it  was  taken)  better  than  his  bond. 


376  UNDERWOODS. 

XXXV. 
AN  ELEGY. 

Can  beauty,  that  did  prompt  me  first  to  write, 

Now  threaten,  with  those  means  she  did  invite? 

Did  her  perfections  call  me  on  to  gaze, 

Then  like,  then  love ;  and  now  would  theyamazel 

Or  was  she  gracious  afar  off,  but  near 

A  terror?  or  is  all  this  but  my  fear? 

That  as  the  water  makes  things,  put  in't  strait, 

Crooked  appear  ;  so  that  doth  my  conceit : 

I  can  help  that  with  boldness  ;  and  Love  sware,* 

And  fortune  once,  t'assist  the  spirits  that  dare. 

But  which  shall  lead  me  on  ?  both  these  are  blind. 

Such  guides  men  use  not,  who  their  way  would 

find, 

Except  the  way  be  error  to  those  ends  ; 
And  then  the  best  are  still  the  blindest  friends. 
Oh  how  a  lover  may  mistake  !  to  think 
Or  Love,  or  Fortune  blind,  when  they  but  wink 
To  see  men  fear  ;  or  else  for  truth  and  state, 
Because  they  would  free  justice  imitate, 
Vail  their  own  eyes,  and  would  impartially 
Be  brought  by  us  to  meet  our  destiny. 
If  it  be  thus ;  come  Love,  and  Fortune  go, 
I'll  lead  you  on ;  or  if  my  fate  will  so, 
That  I  must  send  one  first,  my  choice  assigns 
Love  to  my  heart,  and  Fortune  to  my  lines. 

6  And  Love  sware.]     He  alludes  to  the  two  proverbs,  Faint 
heart,  fyc.  and  Fortes  F ortuna  juvat . 


UNDERWOODS.  377 

XXXVI. 
AN   ELEGY. 

By  those  bright  eyes,  at  whose  immortal  fires 

Love  lights  his  torches  to  inflame  desires  ; 

By  that  fair  stand,  your  forehead,  whence  he 

bends 

His  double  bow,  and  round  his  arrows  sends  ; 
By  that  tall  grove,  your  hair,  whose  globy  rings 
He  flying  curls,  and  crispeth  with  his  wings ; 
By  those  pure  baths  your  either  cheek  discloses, 
Where  he  doth  steep  himself  in  milk  and  roses;7 
And  lastly,  by  your  lips,  the  bank  of  kisses, 
Where  men  at  once  may  plant  and  gather  blisses  : 
Tell  me,  my  lov'd  friend,  do  you  love  or  no  ? 
So  well  as  I  may  tell  in  verse,  'tis  so  ? 
You  blush,  but  do  not: — friends  are  either  none, 
Though  they  may  number  bodies,  or  but  one. 
I'll  therefore  ask  no  more,  but  bid  you  love, 
And  so  that  either  may  example  prove 
Unto  the  other  ;  and  live  patterns,  how 
Others,  in  time,  may  love  as  we  do  now. 
Slip  no  occasion  ;  as  time  stands  not  still, 
I  know  no  beauty,  nor  no  youth  that  will. 

7  By  those  pure  baths  your  either  cheek  discloses, 

Where  he  doth  steep  himself  in  milk  and  roses.]  Though  no 
date  is  prefixed  to  this  Elegy,  it  was  written  before  the  cele- 
bration of  Charts;  for  in  the  fifth  ode  there  is  an  allusion  to 
these  and  the  following  verses  ; 

" And  see  ! 

Such  my  mother's  blushes  be 

As  the  bath  your  verse  discloses 

In  her  cheeks  of  inilk  and  roses,  &c.    WHAL. 

This  is  a  curious  mode  of  settling  precedency ;  but  it  shall  be 
as  Whalley  pleases.  This  little  piece  begins  much  better  than 
it  ends. 


378  UNDERWOODS. 

To  use  the  present,  then,  is  not  abuse, 

You  have  a  husband  is  the  just  excuse 

Of  all  that  can  be  done  him ;  such  a  one 

As  would  make  shift  to  make  himself  alone 

That  which  we  can ;  who  both  in  you,  his  wifer 

His  issue,  and  all  circumstance  of  life, 

As  in  his  place,  because  he  would  not  vary, 

Is  constant  to  be  extraordinary. 

XXXVII. 

A  SATIRICAL  SHRUB.' 

A  woman's  friendship  !  God,  whom  I  trust  in, 

Forgive  me  this  one  foolish  deadly  sin, 

Amongst  my  many  other,  that  I  may 

No  more,  I  am  sorry  for  so  fond  cause,  say 

At  fifty  years,  almost,  to  value  it, 

That  ne'er  was  known  to  last  above  a  fit ! 

Or  have  the  least  of  good,  but  what  it  must 

Put  on  for  fashion,  and  take  up  on  trust. 

Knew  I  all  this  afore  ?  had  I  perceiv'd, 

That  their  whole  life  was  wickedness,  though 

weav'd 

Of  many  colours  ;  outward,  fresh  from  spots, 
But  their  whole  inside  full  of  ends,  and  knots  ? 
Knew  I  that  all  their  dialogues  and  discourse 
Were  such  as  I  will  now  relate,  or  worse? 

9 

*  This  is  more  in  the  style  and  manner  of  Donne  than  of 
our  author.  It  may,  however,  be  his  ;  though  I  suspect  that 
the  loose  scraps  found  after  his  death,  among  his  papers,  were 
committed  to  the  press  without  much  examination.  There  was 
undoubtedly  an  intercommunity  of  Terse  between  the  two 
friends ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  carry  the  argument  any  further. 

'  Here  (the  folio  says)  something  is  wanting. 


UNDERWOODS.  379 

******# 
####*•#•* 

Knew  I  this  woman?  yes,  and  you  do  see, 
How  penitent  I  am,  or  I  should  be. 
Do  not  you  ask  to  know  her,  she  is  worse 
Than  all  ingredients  made  into  one  curse, 
And  that  pour'd  out  upon  mankind,  can  be : 
Think  but  the  sin  of  all  her  sex,  'tis  she ! 
I  could  forgive  her  being  proud  !  a  whore  ! 
Perjur'd  !  and  painted  !  if  she  were  no  more — 
But  she  is  such,  as  she  might  yet  forestall 
The  devil,  and  be  the  damning  of  us  all. 

XXXVIII. 
A  LITTLE  SHRUB  GROWING  BY. 

Ask  not  to  know  this  Man.1  If  fame  should  speak 
His  name  in  any  metal,  it  would  break. 
Two  letters  were  enough  the  plague  to  tear 
Out  of  his  grave,  and  poison  every  ear. 
A  parcel  of  Court- dirt,  a  heap,  and  mass 
Of  all  vice  hurl'd  together,  there  he  was, 
Proud,  false,  and  treacherous,  vindictive,  all 
That  thought  can  add,  unthankful,  the  lay-stall 
Of  putrid  flesh  alive  !  of  blood  the  sink  ! 
And  so  I  leave  to  stir  him,  lest  he  stink. 

XXXIX. 

AN    ELEGY. 

Though  beauty  be  the  mark  of  praise, 
And  yours  of  whom  I  sing,  be  such, 
As  not  the  world  can  praise  too  much, 

Yet  'tis  your  virtue  now  I  raise. 

1  Ask  not  to  know  this  A/an,  &c.]  This  too  is  in  the  stjle  of 
Donne.  It  was  evidently  designed  to  be  a  pendant  of  the  former; 
whoever  wrote  that  wrote  this. 


380  UNDERWOODS. 

A  virtue,  like  allay,  so  gone 

Throughout  your  form  ;  as  though  that  move, 
And  draw,  and  conquer  all  men's  love, 

This  subjects  you  to  love  of  one, 

Wherein  you  triumph  yet ;  because 
'Tis  of  yourself,  and  that  you  use 
The  noblest  freedom,  not  to  choose 

Against  or  faith,  or  honour's  laws. 

But  who  could  less  expect  from  you, 

In  whom  alone  Love  lives  agen  ? 

By  whom  he  is  restor'd  to  men ; 
And  kept,  and  bred,  and  brought  up  true? 

His  falling  temples  you  have  rear'd, 
.   The  wither'd  garlands  ta'en  away  ; 

His  altars  kept  from  the  decay 
That  envy  wish'd,  and  nature  fear'd : 

And  on  them  burn  so  chaste  a  flame, 
With  so  much  loyalty's  expense, 
As  Love  t'  acquit  such  excellence, 

Is  gone  himself  into  your  name. 

And  you  are  he  ;  the  deity 

To  whom  all  lovers  are  design'd, 
That  would  their  better  objects  find  ; 

Among  which  faithful  troop  am  I. 

Who,  as  an  offering  at  your  shrine,2 
Have  sung  this  hymn,  and  here  entreat 
One  spark  of  your  diviner  heat 

To  light  upon  a  love  of  mine. 

a  Who,  as  an  offering,  &c.]    The  folio  reads  offspring.    Cor. 
rccted  by  Whalley. 


UNDERWOODS.  381 

Which,  if  it  kindle  not,  but  scant 

Appear,  and  that  to  shortest  view, 

Yet  give  me  leave  t'  adore  in  you 
What  I,  in  her,  am  grieved  to  want. 

XL. 
AN  ELEGY.3 

Fair  friend,  'tis  true,  your  beauties  move 

My  heart  to  a  respect ; 
Too  little  to  be  paid  with  love, 

Too  great  for  your  neglect. 

I  neither  love,  nor  yet  am  free, 

For  though  the  flame  I  find 
Be  not  intense  in  the  degree, 

'Tis  of  the  purest  kind. 

It  little  wants  of  love  but  pain; 

Your  beauty  takes  my  sense, 
And  lest  you  should  that  price  disdain, 

My  thoughts  too  feel  the  influence. 

'Tis  not  a  passion's  first  access 

Ready  to  multiply ; 
But  like  love's  calmest  state  it  is 

Possest  with  victory. 

It  is  like  love  to  truth  reduc'd, 

All  the  false  values  gone, 
Which  were  created,  and  induc'd 

By  fond  imagination. 

*  This  little  piece,  which  is  not  without  merit,  is  carelessly 
thrown  in  towards  the  conclusion  of  the  old  folio,  where  it  is 
united  to  "  A  New-year's  Gift  to  king  Charles  I" 


382  UNDERWOODS. 

Tis  either  fancy  or  'tis  fate, 

To  love  you  more  than  I : 
I  love  you  at  your  beauty's  rate, 

Less  were  an  injury. 

Like  unstampt  gold,  I  weigh  each  grace, 

So  that  you  may  collect. 
Th'  intrinsic  value  of  your  face, 

Safely  from  my  respect. 

And  this  respect  would  merit  love, 

Were  not  so  fair  a  sight 
Payment  enough ;  for  who  dares  move 

Reward  for  his  delight  ? 


XLI. 
AN   ODE. 

To  HIMSELF. 

Where  dost  Thou  careless  lie 

Buried  in  ease  and  sloth  ? 
Knowledge,  that  sleeps,  doth  die ; 
And  this  security, 

It  is  the  common  moth, 

That  eats  on  wits  and  arts,  and  [so]  destroys  them 
both:4 

*  That  eats  on  wits  and  arts,  and  destroys  them  both.]  A  syl- 
lable is  evidently  lost,  necessary  to  complete  the  measure ;  I 
have  inserted  a  monosyllable  that  helps  it  out, 

Versus  fullurn  cadentis.        WHAL. 

Whalley's  choice  fell  on  quite ;  I  prefer  so :  the  reader, 
perhaps,  may  stumble  upon  a  better  substitute  than  either. 


UNDERWOODS.  383 

Are  all  the  Aonian  springs 

Dried  up  ?  lies  Thespia  waste  ? 
Doth  Clarius'  harp  want  strings, 
That  not  a  nymph  now  sings  ; 

Or  droop  they  as  disgrac'd, 
To  see  their  seats  and  bowers  by  chattering  pies 
defac'd  ? 

If  hence  thy  silence  be, 

As  'tis  too  just  a  cause  ; 
Let  this  thought  quicken  thee  : 
Minds  that  are  great  and  free 

Should  not  on  fortune  pause, 
'Tis  crown  enough  to  virtue  still,  her  own  ap- 
plause. 

What  though  the  greedy  fry 

Be  taken  with  false  baits 
Of  worded  balladry, 
And  think  it  poesy  ? 

They  die  with  their  conceits, 
And  only  piteous  scorn  upon  their  folly  waits. 

Then  take  in  hand  thy  lyre, 

Strike  in  thy  proper  strain, 
With  Japhet's  line,  aspire 
Sol's  chariot  for  new  fire,5 

To  give  the  world  again  : 

Who  aided  him,  will  thee,  the  issue  of  Jove's 
brain. 

*  With  Japhet's  line  aspire 

SoVs  chariot  for  newjire.]  He  means  Prometheus,  the  son 
of  Japetus,  who,  as  the  poets  say,  was  assisted  by  Minerva,  in 
the  formation  of  his  man,  whom  he  animated  with  fire  taken 
from  the  chariot  of  the  Sun.  WHAL. 

This  spirited  Ode  was  probably  among  oar  author's  early 
performances.  A  part  of  the  concluding  stanza  we  have  already 


384  UNDERWOODS. 

And  since  our  dainty  age 

Cannot  indure  reproof, 
Make  not  thyself  a  page, 

To  that  strumpet  the  stage, 
But  sing  high  and  aloof, 

Safe  from  the  wolf 's  black  jaw,  and  the  dull  ass's 
hoof. 

XLII. 
THE  MIND  OF  THE  FRONTISPIECE 

TO  A  BOOK.6 

From  death  and  dark  ohlivion  (near  the  same) 

The  mistress  of  man's  life,  grave  History, 
Raising  the  world  to  good  and  evil  fame 

Doth  vindicate  it  to  eternity. 
Wise  Providence  would  so  :  that  nor  the  good 

Might  be  defrauded,  nor  the  great  secured, 
But  both  mightknow  their  ways  were  understood, 

When  vice  alike  in  time  with  virtue  dured : 

had  in  the  u  Apologetical  Dialogue"  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
Poetaster;  and  the  whole  might  be  written  about  the  period  of 
the  appearance  of  that  drama.  Jonson's  dislike  to  the  stage 
here  breaks  out : — but,  in  truth,  this  is  not  the  only  passage 
from  which  we  are  authorized  to  collect  that  necessity  alone 
led  him  to  write  for  the  theatres.  - 

6  These  lines  are  prefixed  to  sir  Walter  Raleigh's  History 
of  the  World)  fol.  1614:  they  are  descriptive  of  the  orna- 
mental figures  in  the  serious  frontispiece  to  that  volume,  and 
can  scarcely  be  understood  without  a  reference  to  the  plate 
itself.  Jonson  assisted  Raleigh  in  this  great  work  ;  and,  indeed, 
there  were  not  many  literary  undertakings  of  importance,  in 
his  days,  to  which  "  the  envious  Ben"  did  not  liberally  afford 
his  aid. 

The  folio  has  been  corrected  from  Raleigh's  copy.  It  seems 
that  Whalley  was  not  acquainted  with  the  purport  of  this  little 
piece,  or  with  its  appearance  in  any  volume  previously  to  that 
of  1641. 


UNDERWOODS.  385 

Which  makes  that,  lighted  by  the  beamy  hand 

Of  Truth,   that  searcheth  the  most   hidden 

springs, 
And  guided  by  Experience,  whose  straight  wand 

Doth  mete,  whose  line  doth  sound  the  depth 

of  things ; 
She  cheerfully  supported!  what  she  rears, 

Assisted  by  no  strengths  but  are  her  own, 
Some  note  of  which  each  varied  pillar  bears, 

By  which,  as  proper  titles,  she  is  known 
Time's  witness,  herald  of  Antiquity, 
The  light  of  Truth,  and  life  of  Memory. 


XLIV. 

AN   ODE 

To  JAMES  EARL  OF  DESMOND.? 

Where  art  thou,  Genius?  I  should  use' 
Thy  present  aid  :  arise  Invention, 

Wake,  and  put  on  the  wings  of  Pindar's  Muse, 
To  tower  with  my  intention 

'  One  of  our  author's  earliest  pieces.  "  It  was  written,"  (the 
folio  says,)  "  in  queen  Elizabeth's  time,  since  lost,  and 
recovered." 

This  earl  was,  I  believe,  the  son  of  Gerald,  sixteenth  earl 
of  Desmond,  a  most  powerful  nobleman,  and  a  formidable 
rebel,  who  gave  Elizabeth  a  world  of  uneasiness.  Ht  was, 
however,  mastered  at  length,  and  his  vast  possessions,  which 
extended  over  several  counties,  were  in  1582  forfeited  to  the 
crown.  His  son  James,  the  person,  I  presume,  to  whom  this  ode 
was  addressed,  was  restored  in  blood  and  honour,  in  1600. 
From  the  allusions  to  his  state  of  disfavour,  and  the  call  upon 
him  to  continue  in  his  loyalty,  and  wait  the  reward  of  his  virtue, 

VOL.  VIII.  C  C 


S86  UNDERWOODS. 

High  as  his  mind,  that  doth  advance 
Her  upright  head,  above  the  vreach  of  chance, 

Or  the  times  envy. 

Cynthius,  I  apply 
My  bolder  numbers  to  thy  golden  lyre  : 

O  then  inspire 
Thy  priest  in  this  strange  rapture  !  heat  my  brain 

With  Delphic  fire, 

That  I  may  sing  my  thoughts  in  some  unvulgar 
strain. 

Rich  beam  of  honour,  shed  your  light 
On  these  dark  rhymes,  that  my  affection 
May  shine,  through  every  chink,  to  every  sight, 

Graced  by  your  reflection  ! 
Then  shall  my  verses,  like  strong  charms, 
Break  the  knit  circle  of  her  stony  arms, 
That  holds  your  spirit, 
And  keeps  your  merit 
Lock'd  in  her  cold  embraces,  from  the  view 

Of  eyes  more  true, 

Who    would  with  judgment  search,  searching 
conclude, 

As  prov'd  in  you, 

True    noblesse.    Palm  grows    straight,    though 
handled  ne'er  so  rude. 

the  poem  must  have  been  written  before  that  period.     There  is 
something  prophetic  in  the  last  stanza : 

''  If  I  auspiciously  divine, 
As  my  hope  tells — then  our  fair  Phoebe's  shine 

Shall  light  those  places 

With  lustrous  graces 
Where  darkness,  with  her  gloomy. scepter'd  hand, 

Doth  now  command." 


UNDERWOODS.  387 

Nor  think  yourself  unfortunate; 

If  subject  to  the  jealous  errors 
Of  politic  pretext,  that  wries  a  state, 

Sink  not  beneath  these  terrors  : 

But  whisper,  O  glad  innocence, 
Where  only  a  man's  birth  is  his  offence ; 

Or  the  disfavour 

Of  such  as  savour 
Nothing,  but  practise  upon  honour's  thrall, 

O  virtue's  fall ! 
When  her  dead  essence,  like  the  anatomy 

In  Surgeons'  hall, 
Is  but  a  statist's  theme  to  read  phlebotomy. 

Let  Brontes,  and  black  Steropes, 
Sweat  at  the  forge,  their  hammers  beating ; 
Pyracmon's  hour  will  come  to  give  them  ease, 
Though  but  while  the  metal's  heating  : 
And,  after  all  the  ^Etnaean  ire, 
Gold,  that  is  perfect,  will  outlive  the  fire. 
For  fury  wasteth, 
As  patience  lasteth. 
No  armour  to  the  mind  !  he  is  shot-free 

From  injury, 
That  is  not  hurt ;  not  he,  that  is  not  hit; 

So  fools,  we  see, 

Oft  scape  an  imputation,  more  through  luck  than 
wit. 

But  to  yourself,  most  loyal  lord, 

(Whose  heart  in  that  bright  sphere  flames 

clearest, 

Though  many  gems  be  in  your  bosom  stor'd, 
Unknown  which  is  the  dearest) 
If  I  auspiciously  divine, 
As  my  hope  tells,  that  our  fair  Phoebe's  shine,8 

•  Our  fair  Phoebe's  shine.]  Whalley  corrupted  this  into  fair 
C  C2 


388  UNDERWOODS: 

Shall  light  those  places 
With  lustrous  graces, 

Where  darkness,withher  gloomy  scepter'd  hand, 
Doth  now  command  ; 

0  then,  my  best-best  lov'd  let  me  importune, 

That  you  will  stand, 

As  far  from  all  revolt,  as  you  are  now  from 
fortune. 

XLV. 
AN  ODE. 

High-spirited  friend, 

1  send  nor  balms,  nor  corsives  to  your  wound  ; 

Your  faith  hath  found 
A  gentler,  and  more  agile  hand,  to  tend 
The  cure  of  that  which  is  but  corporal, 
And  doubtful  days,  which  were  nam'd  critical, 

Have  made  their  fairest  flight, 

And  now  are  out  of  sight. 
Yet  doth  some  wholsome  physic  for  the  mind, 

Wrapt  in  this  paper  lie, 
Which  in  the  taking  if  you  misapply, 

You  are  unkind. 

Your  covetous  hand, 
Happy  in  that  fair  honour  it  hath  gain'd, 

Must  now  be  rein'd. 

True  valour  doth  her  own  renown  command 
In  one  full  action  ;  nor  have  you  now  more 
To  do,  than  be  a  husband  of  that  store. 

Phoebus'  shine.  Fair  is  net  the  best  epithet  for  the  god  ;  but  he 
did  ot  st-c  the  author's  meaning,  nor  that  the  allusion  was  to 
"the  beautified"  Elizabeth,  who  lo?ed  to  be  flattered  with  the 
appellation  of  Phoebe  or  Diana. 


UNDERWOOD!  339 

Think  but  how  dear  you  bought 
This  same  which  you  have  caught, 
Such  thoughts  will  make  you  more  in  love  with 

truth  : 

'Tis  wisdom,  and  that  high, 
For  men  to  use  their  fortune  reverently, 

Even  in  youth. 

XLVI. 
AN  ODE. 

Helen,  did  Homer  never  see 
Thy  beauties,  yet  could  write  of  thee? 
Did  Sappho,  on  her  seven-tongued  lute, 
So  speak,  as  yet  it  is  not  mute,9 
Of  Phaon's  form  ?  or  doth  the  boy, 
In  whom  Anacreon  once  did  joy, 
Lie  drawn  to  life  in  his  soft  verse, 
As  he  whom  Maro  did  rehearse  ? 
Was  Lesbia  sung  by  learn'd  Catullus, 
Or  Delia's  graces  by  Tibullus  ? 
Doth  Cynthia,  in  Propertius'  song, 
Shine  more  than  she  the  stars  among  ? 
Is  Horace  his  each  love  so  high 
Rapt  from  the  earth,  as  not  to  die  ; 
With  bright  Lycoris,  Gallus'  choice, 
Whose  fame  hath  an  eternal  voice  ? 
Or  hath  Corinna,  by  the  name 
Her  Ovid  gave  her,  dimm'd  the  fame 

9  _a«  yet  it  is  not  mute,  &c.]  From  Horace  : 


Spirat  adhuc  amor, 


Vivuntque  commissi  calores 

JEolicr.  fidilus  puella. 
Nee  si  quid  olim  lusit 
Delevit  eetas,  fyc. 


390  UNDERWOODS. 

Of  Csesar's  daughter,  and  the  line 
Which  all  the  world  then  styled  divine  ? 
Hath  Petrarch  since  his  Laura  raised 
Equal  with  her?  or  Ronsart  praised 
His  new  Cassandra  'hove  the  old, 
Which  all  the  fate  of  Troy  foretold  ? 
Hath  our  great  Sidney,  Stella  set 
Where  never  star  shone  brighter  yet  ? 
Or  Constable's  ambrosiac  muse 
Made  Dian  not  his  notes  refuse  r  * 
Have  all  these  done — and  yet  I  miss 
The  swan  so  relish'd  Pancharis — 2 


1  Or  Constable's  ambrosiac  muse 

Made  Dian  not  his  notes  refuse?^  This  author,  though 
honoured  with  so  ample  a  testimony  from  Jonson,  is  almost  un- 
known in  this  age.  "  Henry  Constable,"  in  the  words  of  Antony 
Wood,  "  was  a  great  master  of  the  English  tongue ;  and  there  was 
no  gentleman  of  our  nation  who  had  a  more  pure,  quick,  and 
higher  delivery  of  conceit  than  he  :  witness,  among  all  others, 
that  sonnet  of  his  before  the  poetical  translation  called  the 
Furies,  made  by  king  James  the  first  of  England,  while  he  was 
king  of  the  Scots.  He  hath  also  several  sonnets  extant,  written 
to  sir  Philip  Sidney  ;  some  of  which  are  set  before  the  Apology 
for  Poetry,  written  by  the  said  knight."  This  author  flourished 
in  the  reign  of  queen  Elizabeth.  WHAL. 

Antony's  taste  in  poetry  was  not  very  refined,  and  he  did  not 
therefore  discover  that  his  author  (Edmund  Bolton)  had  unluckily 
fixed  upon  one  of  Constable's  worst  sonneti.  The  Diana  of 
which  Jonson  speaks,  was  published  in  1594.  Constable  seems 
to  have  been  the  most  voluminous  sonnet-writer  of  those  son- 
neteering times  ;  and  to  have  acquired  a  reputation  rather  more 
than  equal  to  his  merits :  since,  besides  Jonson,  he  is  mentioned 
with  praise  by  others  of  his  contemporaries,  and  placed  imme- 
diately after  Spenser  by  Judicio,  in  the  Return  from  Parnassus : 

li  Sweet  Constable  doth  take  the  wondering  ear, 
And  lays  it  up  in  willing  prisonraent." 

*  And  yet  I  miss 

The  swan  so  relisk'd  Pancharis.]  This  was  the  French  ppe$ 
Eoncfons,  or  Bone/onius ;  who,  in  imitation  of  Secundus,  wrote 


UNDERWOODS.  391 

And  shall  not  I  my  Celia  bring, 
Where  men  may  see  whom  I  do  sing  ? 
Though  I,  in  working  of  my  song, 
Come  short  of  all  this  learned  throng, 
Yet  sure  my  tunes  will  be  the  best, 
So  much  my  subject  drowns  the  rest. 

XLVII. 

A    SONNET, 

To  THE  NOBLE  LADY,  THE  LADY 
MARY  WROTH. 

I  that  have  been  a  lover,  and  could  shew  it, 
Thoughnotin  these,  in rhymesnotwhollydumb, 
Since  I  esxcribe  your  sonnets,3  am  become 

A  better  lover,  and  much  better  poet. 

Basia,  in  the  praise  of  his  mistress  Pancharis.     He  has  a  cha- 
racter for  tenderness  and  delicacy.     WHAL. 

3  Since  I  exscribe  your  sonnets,  <fcc.]  The  allusion  is  probably 
to  lady  Wroth'g  Urania,  a  pastoral  romance  published  in  1641. 
This,  in  imitation  of  her  uncle's  (Sir  Philip  Sidney's)  Arcadia, 
is  interspersed  with  songs,  sonnets,  and  other  little  pieces  of 
poetry,  -which  our  author,  who  seems  to  have  been  favoured 
with  the  MS.  was  permitted  to  copy.  The  Urania  has  long  been 
forgotten,  and  no  revolution  in  taste  or  manners  can  ever  revive 
its  memory ;  yet  it  was  once  in  considerable  vogue  ;  it  did  not, 
perhaps,  like  Tetrachordon,  number  good  intellects,  yet  it  cer- 
tainly counted  many  bright  eyes,  among  its  admirers.  The  poe- 
tical part  of  Urania  is  rather  above  than  below  the  usual  stan- 
dard of  ladies  rhymes,  and  though  the  chariest  maid  of  these 
times  may  read  it  without  the  smallest  peril,  (except  of  her 
patience)  it  was  looked  upon  as  inflammatory  by  the  combustible 
damsels  of  James's  days  : 

"  The  lady  Wroth's  Urania  is  complete 
With  elegancies;  but  too  full  of  heat," 

Sir  Aston  Cokayne  says ;  and  he  was  not  singular  in  his  opinion. 


392  UNDERWOODS. 

Nor  is  my  Muse  or  I  asham'd  to  owe  it 

To  those  true  numerous  graces,  whereof  some 
But  charm  the  senses,  others  overcome 

Beth  brains  and  hearts ;   and  mine  now  best  do 
know  it : 

For  in  your  verse  all  Cupid's  armory, 

His  flames,  his  shafts,  his  quiver,  and  his  bow, 
His  very  eyes  are  yours  to  overthrow. 

But  then  his  mother's  sweets  you  so  apply, 
Her  joys,  her  smiles,  her  loves,  as  readers  take 
For  Venus'  ceston  every  line  you  make. 

The  following  sonnet  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  poetry 
which  our  author  exscribcd:  it  is  neither  the  best  nor  the  worst 
of  the  collection  : 

SONNET. 

"  Late  in  the  forest  I  did  Cupid  see, 

Cold,  wet,  and  crying,  he  had  lost  his  way ; 
And  being  blind  was  farther  like  to  stray  : 

Which  sight  a  kind  compassion- bred  in  me. 

I  gently  took  and  dried  him,  while  that  he, 

Poor  child,  complain'd  he  starred  was  with  stay, 
And  pined  for  want  of  his  accustom'd  prey  ; 

For  none  in  that  wild  place  his  host  would  be. 

I  glad  was  of  his  finding,  thinking  sure 

This  service  should  my  freedom  still  procure  ; 

And  to  my  breast  I  took  him  then  unharm'd, 
Carr'ing  him  safe  unto  a  myrtle  bower  : 
But  in  the  way  he  made  me  feel  his  power, 

Burning  my  heart,  who  had  him  kindly  warm'd." 

Sir  Robert  Wroth,  the  husband  of  this  celebrated  lady,  was 
also  a  poet :  fortunately  his  genius  was  turned  to  wit,  as  hers 
to  love  ;  so  that  the  respective  pursuits  of  this  tuneful  pair  did 
not  clash,  and  the  domestic  harmony  continued  unbroken  to 
the  end : 

Felices  ter  et  ampltus 
Quos  irrupta  tenet  copula^  nee  malis 

Divulsus  querimoniis 
Supremo,  citins  sol-vet  amor  die  i 


UNDERWOODS  393 

XLVIII. 

A  FIT  OF  RHYME  AGAINST  RHYME. 

Rhyme,  the  rack  of  finest  wits, 
That  expresseth  but  by  fits 

True  conceit, 

Spoiling  senses  of  their  treasure, 
Cozening  judgment  with  a  measure, 

But  false  weight ; 

Wresting  words  from  their  true  calling ; 
Propping  verse  for  fear  of  falling 

To  the  ground  ; 

Jointing  syllabes,  drowning  letters, 
Fastening  vowels,  as  with  fetters 

They  were  bound  ! 
Soon  as  lazy  thou  wert  known, 
All  good  poetry  hence  was  flown, 

And  art  banish'd  : 
For  a  thousand  years  together, 
All  Parnassus'  green  did  wither, 

And  wit  vanish'd ! 
Pegasus  did  fly  away, 
At  the  wells  no  Muse  did  stay, 

But  bewailed, 
So  to  see  the  fountain  dry, 
And  Apollo's  music  die, 

All  light  failed  ! 

Starveling  rhymes  did  fill  the  stage, 
Not  a  poet  in  an  age 

Worthy  crowning. 
Not  a  work  deserving  bays, 
Nor  a  line  deserving  praise, 

Pallas  frowning  : 


UNDERWOODS. 

Greek  was  free  from  rhyme's  infection, 
Happy  Greek,  by  this  protection, 

Was  not  spoiled. 

Whilst  the  Latin,  queen  of  tongues, 
Is  not  yet  free  from  rhyme's  wrongs, 

But  rests  foiled. 

Scarce  the  hill  again  doth  flourish, 
Scarce  the  world  a  wit  cloth  nourish, 

To  restore 

Phoebus  to  his  crown  again  ; 
And  the  Muses  to  their  brain  ; 

As  before. 

Vulgar  languages  that  want 
Words,  and  sweetness,  and  be  scant 

Of  true  measure, 
Tyrant  rhyme  hath  so  abused, 
That  they  long  since  have  refused 

Other  cesure. 

He  that  first  invented  thee, 
May  his  joints  tormented  be, 

Cramp'd  for  ever ; 
Still  may  syllabes*  jar  with  time, 
Still  may  reason  war  with  rhyme, 

Resting  never! 

May  his  sense  when  it  would  meet 
The  cold  tumour  in  his  feet, 

Grow  unsounder ; 
And  IMS  title  be  long  fool, 
That  in  rearing  such  a  school 

Was  the  founder ! 


4  Still  may  syllabes.]  Whalley  reads  syllables  here  and  in 
the  preceding  page,  but  injuriously  in  both  places.  Jonson  uses 
ayllabe  almost  invariably ;  for  which  he  is  commended  by  Home 
Tooke. 


UNDERWOODS.  395 

XLIX. 
AN    EPIGRAM 

ON  WILLIAM  LORD  BURLEIGH, 
LORD  HIGH  TREASURER  OF  ENGLAND.* 

If  tbou  wouldst  know  the  virtues  of  mankind, 
Read  here  in  one,  what  thou  in  all  canst  find, 
And  go  no  further  :  let  this  circle  be 
Thy  universe,  though  his  epitome. 
CECIL,  the  grave,  the  wise,  the  great,  the  good, 
What  is  there  more  that  can  ennoble  blood  ? 
The  orphan's  pillar,  the  true  subject's  shield, 
The  poor'sfull  store-house,  and  justservant'sfield. 
The  only  faithful  watchman  for  the  realm, 
That  in  all  tempests  never  quit  the  helm, 
But  stood  unshaken  in  his  deeds  and  name, 
And  labour'd  in  the  work  ;  not  with  the  fame  : 
That   still   was    good  for  goodness'  sake,  nor 

thought 

Upon  reward,  till  the  reward  him  sought. 
Whose  offices  and  honours  did  surprise, 
Rather  than  meet  him  :  and  before  his  eyes 
Clos'd  to  their  peace,  he  saw  his  branches  shoot, 
And  in  the  noblest  families  took  root, 

5  An  Epigram^  &c.]  "  Presented  (the  fol.  says)  upon  a  plate 
of  gold  to  his  son  Robert  earl  of  Salisbury,  when  he  wag  also 
Treasurer."  Lord  Burleigh  died  in  August,  1598.  There  are 
no  means  of  ascertaining  the  date  of  this  epigram :  if  it  was 
written  on  the  same  occasion  as  that  noble  one,  p.  185,  it  was 
produced  in  1608.  But  whatever  might  be  the  period  of  its 
appearance,  it  was  equally  worthy  of  the  poet,  and  the  patron, 
who  must  have  been  highly  gratified  with  the  judicious  and  cha- 
racteristic applause  bestowed  on  the  great  statesman  to  whose 
honours  he  succeeded. 


396  UNDERWOODS. 

Of  all  the  land  :  Who  now  at  such  a  rate, 
Of  divine  blessing,  would  not  serve  a  state  ? 

L. 

AN   EPIGRAM 
To  THOMAS  LORD  ELESMERE,* 

THE   LAST  TERM  HE  SAT  CHANCELLOR. 

So,  justest  lord,  may  all  your  judgments  be 
Laws;  and  no  change  e'er  come  to  one  decree: 
So  may  the  king  proclaim  your  conscience  is 
Law  to  his  law  ;  and  think  your  enemies  his  : 
So,  from  all  sickness,  may  you  rise  to  health, 
The  care  and  wish  still  of  the  public  wealth  : 
So  may  the  gentler  muses,  and  good  fame, 
Still  fly  about  the  odour  of  your  name  ; 
As,  with  the  safety'  and  honour  of  the  laws, 
You  favour  truth,  and  me,  in  this  man's  cause ! 

LT. 

ANOTHER 
TO  THE  SAME.* 

The  judge  his  favour  timely  then  extends, 
When  a  good  cause  is  destitute  of  friends, 

*  For  this  excellent  person  see  p.  192.     He  held  the  seals, 
in  compliance  with  the  reiterated  intreaties  of  James,  till  the 
3d  of  March,  1617,  when,  as  Camden  tells  us,  the  king  received 
them  from  him  with  tears  of  gratitude. 

This  Epigram  (Jonson  says)  was  written  for  a  poor  man,  who 
had  a  suit  depending  before  lord  Elesmere.  Its  date  may  be  re. 
ferred  to  Michaelmas  Term,  1616. 

*  For  the  same  poor  man. 


UNDERWOODS.  397 

Without  the  pomp  of  counsel ;  or  more  aid, 
Than  to  make  falsehood  blush,  and  fraud  afraid : 
When  those  good  few,  that  her  defenders  be, 
Are  there  for  charity,  and  not  for  fee. 
Such  shall  you  hear  to-day,  and  find  great  foes 
Both  arm'd  with  wealth  and  slander  to  oppose, 
Who  thus  long  safe,  would  gain  upon  the  times 
A  right  by  the  prosperity  of  their  crimes  ; 
Who,  though  their  guilt  and  perjury  they  know, 
Think,  yea,  and  boast,  that  they  have  done  it  so, 
As,  though  the  court  pursues  them  on  the  scent, 
They  will  come  off,  and  'scape  the  punishment. 
When  this  appears,  just  lord,  to  your  sharp  sight, 
He  does  you  wrong,  that  craves  you  to  do  right. 

LII. 
AN   EPIGRAM 

TO  THE  COUNSELLOR  THAT  PLEADED, 
AND  CARRIED  THE  CAUSE. 

That  I  hereafter  do  not  think  the  bar, 
The  seat  made  of  a  more  than  civil  war,8 
Or  the  great  hall  at  Westminster,  the  field 
Where  mutual  frauds  are  fought,  and  no  side 

yield, 

That  henceforth  I  believe  nor  books,  nor  men, 
Who 'gainst  the  law  weave  calumnies,  my  BEN N  ;» 

^  A  more  than  civil  war.] 

•  plvsquam  civilia  bella.     LUCAN. 

'  Who  'gainst  the  law  weave  calumnies,  my .]  This  blank, 

I  imagine,  was  to  have  been  filled  with  the  name  of  the  coun- 
sellor who  pleaded  in  the  cause :  it  must  be  a  word  of  one 
syllable,  and  answer  in  rhyme  to  men,  the  close  of  the  preceding 


398  UNDERWOODS. 

But  when  I  read  or  hear  the  names  so  rife, 
Of  hirelings,  wranglers,  stitchers-to  of  strife, 
Hook-handed  harpies,  gowned  vultures,  put 
Upon  the  reverend  pleaders  ;  do  now  shut 
All  mouths  that  dare  entitle  them,  from  hence, 
To  the  wolf's  study,  or  dog's  eloquence ; 
Thou  art  my  cause  :  whose  manners  since  I  knew, 
Have  made  me  to  conceive  a  lawyer  new. 
So  dost  thou  study  matter,  men,  and  times, 
Mak'st  it  religion  to  grow  rich  by  crimes ; 
Dar'st  not  abuse  thy  wisdom  in  the  laws, 
Or  skill  to  carry  out  an  evil  cause  : 
But  first  dost  vex,  and  search  it !  if  not  sound, 
Thou  prov'st  the  gentler  ways   to  cleanse  the 

wound, 

And  make  the  scar  fair;  if  that  will  not  be, 
Thou  hast  the  brave  scorn  to  put  back  the  fee ! 
But  in  a  business  that  will  bide  the  touch, 
What  use,  what  strength  of  reason,  and  how  much 
Of  books,  of  precedents  hast  thou  at  hand  ! 
As  if  the  general  store  thou  didst  command 
Of  argument,  still  drawing  forth  the  best, 
And  not  being  borrow'd  by  thee,  but  possest. 
So  com'st  thou  like  a  chief  into  the  court 
Arm'd  at  all  pieces,  as  to  keep  a  fort 
Against  a  multitude  ;  and,  with  thy  style 
So  brightly  brandish'd,  wound'st,  defend'st!  the 

while 

Thy  adversaries  fall,  as  not  a  word 
They  had,  but  were  a  reed  unto  thy  sword. 
Then  com'st  thou  off  with  victory  and  palm, 
Thy  hearer's  nectar,  and  thy  client's  balm, 
The  court's  just  honour,  and  thy  judge's  love. 
And  (which  doth  all  achievements  get  above) 

verse.  From  these  particulars,  it  is  probable,  the  person  here 
meant  was  Anthony  Benn,  who  succeeded  the  solicitor  Coventry 
in  the  recordership  of  London.  WHAL. 


UNDERWOODS. 

Thy  sincere  practice  breeds  not  thee  a  fame 
Alone,  but  all  thy  rank  a  reverend  name. 

LIII. 

AN   EPIGRAM 
To  THE  SMALL-POX. 

Envious  and  foul  Disease,  could  there  not  be 
One  beauty  in  an  age,  and  free  from  thee  ? 
What  did  she  worth  thy  spite  ?    were  there  not 

store 

Of  those  that  set  by  their  false  faces  more 
Than  this  did  by  her  true?  she  never  sought 
Quarrel  with  nature,  or  in  balance  brought 
Art  her  false  servant ;  nor,  for  sir  Hugh  Plat,9 
Was  drawn  to  practise  other  hue,  than  that 
Her  own  blood  gave  her :  she  ne'er  had,  nor  hath 
Any  belief  in  madam  Bawdbee's  bath, 
Or  Turner's  oil  of  talc  :  nor  ever  got 
Spanish  receipt  to  make  her  teeth  to  rot. 
What  was  the  cause  then?    thought'st  thou, itv 

disgrace 

Of  beauty,  so  to  nullify  a  face, 
That  heaven  should  make  no  more  ;    or  should 

amiss 

Make  all  hereafter,  hadst  thou  ruin'd  this  ? 
Ay,  that  thy  aim  was ;  but  her  fate  prevail'd : 
And,  scorn'd,  thou'st  shown  thy  malice,  but  hast 

fail'd  ! 

9  Sir  Hugh  Plat.]  He  was  a  compiler  of  recipes  for  making 
cosmetics,  oils,  ointments,  &c.  &c.;  one  of  his  books  is  entitled, 
"  Delights  for  ladies  to  adorne  their  persons,  &c.  1628." 


400  UNDERWOODS. 

LIV. 
AN   EPITAPH. 

What  beauty  would  have  lovely  styled, 
What  manners  pretty,  nature  mild, 
What  wonder  perfect,  all  were  filed 
Upon  record,  in  this  blest  child. 
And  till  the  coming  of  the  soul 
To  fetch  the  flesh,  we  keep  the  roll. 

LV. 
A    SONG. 

LOVEIU 

Come,  let  us  here  enjoy  the  shade, 
For  love  in  shadow  best  is  made. 
Though  Envy  oft  his  shadow  be, 
None  brooks  the  sun-light  worse  than  he. 

MISTRESS. 

Where  love  doth  shine,  there  needs  no  sun, 
All  lights  into  his  one  do  run  ; 
Without  which  all  the  world  were  dark  ; 
Yet  he  himself  is  but  a  spark. 

ARBITER. 

A  spark  to  set  whole  world  a- fire, 
Who,  more  they  burn,  they  more  desire, 
And  have  their  being,  their  waste  to  see ; 
And  waste  still,  that  they  still  might  be. 


UNDERWOODS.  401 

CHORUS. 

Such  are  his  powers,  whom  time  hath  styled, 
Now  swift,  now  slow,  now  tame,  now  wild  ; 
Now  hot,  now  cold,  now  fierce,  now  mild  ; 
The  eldest  god,  yet  still  a  child. 


LVI. 

AN   EPISTLE 
To  A  FRIEND. 

Sir,  I  am  thankful,  first  to  heaven  for  you ; 
Next  to  yourself,  for  making  your  love  true  : 
Then  to  your  love  and  gift.  And  all's  but  due. 

You  have  unto  my  store  added  a  book, 
On  which  with  profit  I  shall  never  look, 
But  must  confess  from  whom  that  gift  I  took. 

Not  like  your  country  neighbours  that  commit 
Their  vice  of  loving  for  a  Christmas-fit; 
Which  is  indeed  but  friendship  of  the  spit: 

But,  as  a  friend,  which  name  yourself  receive, 
And  which  you  (being  the  worthier)  gave  me 

leave 
In  letters,  that  mix  spirits,  thus  to  weave. 

Which,  how  most  sacred  I  will  ever  keep, 
So  may  the  fruitful  vine  my  temples  steep, 
And  fame  wake  for  me  when  I  yield  to  sleep  ! 

Though  you  sometimes  proclaim  me  too  severe, 
Rigid,  and  harsh,  which  is  a  drug  austere 
In  friendship,  1  confess  :  but,  dear  friend,  hear. 

VOL.  viii.  D  d 


402  UNDERWOODS. 

Little  know  they,  that  profess  amity, 
And  seek  to  scant  her  comely  liberty, 
How  much  they  lame  her  in  her  property. 

And  less  they  know,  who  being  free  to  use 
That  friendship  which  no  chance  but  love  did 

choose, 
Will  unto  license  that  fair  leave  abuse. 

It  is  an  act  of  tyranny,  not  love, 
In  practis'd  friendship  wholly  to  reprove, 
As  flattery,  with  friends'  humours  still  to  move. 

From  each  of  which  I  labour  to  be  free, 
Yet  .if  with  cither's  vice  I  tainted  be, 
Forgive  it,  as  my  frailty,  and  not  me. 

For  no  man  lives  so  out  of  passion's  sway, 
But  shall  sometimes  be  tempted  to  obey 
Her  fury,  yet  no  friendship  to  betray. 


LVII. 
AN    ELEGY. 

'Tis  true,  I'm  broke  !  vows,  oaths,  and  all  I  had f 

Of  credit  lost.  And  I  am  now  run  mad  ; 

Or  do  upon  myself  some  desperate  ill : 

This  sadness  makes  no  approaches,  but  to  kill. 

It  is  a  "darkness  hath  block'd  up  my  sense, 

And  drives  it  in  to  eat  on  my  offence, 

1  'Tis  true,  I  >m  broke,  &c.]  This,  and  the  next  three  Elegies, 
are  all  addressed  to  the  same  person.  The  lady,  whoeTer  she 
was,  appears  to  have  had  a  loye  affair  with  the  poet,  who,  in  a 
moment  of  intoxication,  had  betrayed  her  confidence,  and  dis- 
closed the  secret  of  their  connection. 


UNDERWOODS.  403 

Or  there  to  starve  it.  Help,  O  you  that  may 

Alone  lend  succours,  and  this  fury  stay. 

Offended  mistress,  you  are  yet  so  fair, 

As  light  breaks  from  you  that  affrights  despair, 

And  fills  my  powers  with  persuading  joy, 

That  you  should  be  too  noble  to  destroy. 

There  may  some  face  or  menace  of  a  storm 

Look  forth,  but  cannot  last  in  such  a  form. 

If  there  be  nothing  worthy  you  can  see 

Of  graces,  or  your  mercy  here  in  me, 

Spare  your  own  goodness  yet ;  and  be  not  great 

In  will  and  power,  only  to  defeat. 

God  and  the  good  know  to  forgive  and  save ; 

The  ignorant  and  fools  no  pity  have. 

I  will  not  stand  to  justify  my  fault, 

Or  lay  th'  excuse  upon  the  vintner's  vault ; 

Or  in  confessing  of  the  crime  be  nice, 

Or  go  about  to  countenance  the  vice, 

By  naming  in  what  company  'twas  in, 

As  I  would  urge  authority  for  sin  ; 

No,  I  will  stand  arraign'd  and  cast,  to  be 

The  subject  of  your  grace  in  pardoning  me, 

And  (styled  yourmercy's  creature)  will  live  more, 

Your  honour  now,  than  your  disgrace  before. 

Think  it  was  frailty,  mistress,  think  me  man, 
Think  that  yourself,  like  heaven,  forgive  me  can: 
Where  weakness  doth  offend,  and  virtue  grieve, 
There  greatness  takes  a  glory  to  relieve. 
Think  that  I  once  was  yours,  or  may  be  now  ; 
Nothing  is  vile,  that  is  a  part  of  you. 
Error  and  folly  in  me  may  have  crost 
Your  just  commands;  yet  those,  not  I,  be  lost. 
I  am  regenerate  now,  become  the  child 
Of  your  compassion;  parents  should  be  mild  : 
There  is  no  father  that  for  one  demerit, 
Or  two,  or  three,  a  son  will  disinherit ; 
Dd  2 


404  UNDERWOODS. 

That  is  the  last  of  punishments  is  meant; 

No  man  inflicts  that  pain,  till  hope  he  spent: 

An  ill-affected  limb,  whate'er  it  ail, 

We  cut  not  off,  till  all  cures  else  do  fail ; 

And  then  with  pause ;    for  sever'd  once,  that's 

gone, 

Would  live  his  glory,  that  could  keep  it  on. 
Do  not  despair  my  mending  ;  to  distrust 
Before  you  prove  a  medicine,  is  unjust: 
You  may  so  place  me,  and  in  such  an  air, 
As  not  alone  the  cure,  but  scar  be  fair. 
That  is,  if  still  your  favours  you  apply, 
And  not  the  bounties  you  have  done,  deny. 
Could  you  demand  the  gifts  you  gave,  again ! 
Why  was'tr    did  e'er  the  clouds  ask  back  their 

rain  ? 

The  sun  his  heat  and  light?  the  air  his  dew? 
Or  winds  the  spirit  by  which  the  flower  so  grew  ? 
That  were  to  wither  all,  and  make  a  grave 
Of  that  wise  nature  would  a  cradle  have. 
Her  order  is  to  cherish  and  preserve  ; 
Consumption's,  nature  to  destroy  and  sterve. 
But  to  exact  again  what  once  is  given, 
Is  nature's  mere  obliquity  ;  as  heaven 
Should  ask  the  blood  and  spirits  he  hath  infus'd 
In  man,  because  man  hath  the  flesh  abus'd. 
O  may  your  wisdom  take  example  hence, 
God  lightens  not  at  man's  each  frail  offence: 
He  pardons  slips,  goes  by  a  world  of  ills, 
And  then  his  thunder  frights  more  than  it  kills. 
He  cannot  angry  be,  but  all  must  quake ; 
It  shakes  t 'en  him  that  all  things  else  doth  shake, 
And  how  more  fair  and  lovely  looks  the  world 
In  a  calm  sky,  than  when  the  heaven  is  I  url'd 
About  in  clouds,  and  wrapt  in  racing  weather, 
As  all  with  storm  and  tempest  ran  together  ! 


UNDERWOODS.  405 

O  imitate  that  sweet  serenity 
That  makes  us  live,  not  that  which  calls  to  die. 
In  dark  and  sullen  morns  do  we  not  say, 
This  looketh  like  an  execution-day  ? 
And  with  the  vulgar  doth  it  not  ohtain 
The  name  of  cruel  weather,  storm  and  rain? 
Be  not  affected  with  these  marks  too  much 
Of  cruelty,  lest  they  do  make  you  such  ; 
But  view  the  mildness  of  your  Maker's  state, 
As  I  the  penitent's  here  emulate. 
He,  when  he  sees  a  sorrow,  such  as  this, 
Straight  puts  off  all  his  anger,  and  doth  kiss 
The  contrite  soul,  who  hath  no  thought  to  win 
Upon  the  hope  to  have  another  sin 
Forgiven  him  :  and  in  that  line  stand  I, 
Rather  than  once  displease  you  more,  to  die, 
To  suffer  tortures,  scorn,  and  infamy, 
What  foola,  and  all  their  parasites  can  apply  ; 
The  wit  of  ale,  and  genius  of  the  malt 
Can  pump  for,  or  a  libel  without  salt 
Produce;  though  threat'ningwithacoal  or  chalk, 
On  every  wall,  and  sung  where-e'er  I  walk. 
I  number  these,  as  being  of  the  chore 
Of  contumely,  and  urge  a  good  man  more 
Than  sword,  or  fire,  or  ^vhat  is  of  the  race 
To  carry  noble  danger  in  the  face  : 
There  is  not  any  punishment  or  pain, 
A  man  should  fly  from,  as  he  would  disdain. 
Then,  mistress,  here,  here  let  your  rigour  end, 
And  let  your  mercy  make  me  asham'd  t'  offend  ; 
I  will  no  more  abuse  my  vows  to  you, 
Than  1  will  study  falsehood,  to  be  true. 

O  that  you  could  hut  by  dissection  see 
How  much  you  are  the  better  part  of  me  ; 
How  all  my  fibres  by  your  spirit  do  move, 
And  that  there  is  no  life  in  me,  but  love  ! 


406  UNDERWOODS. 

You  would  be  then  most  confident,  that  though 
Public  affairs  command  me  now  to  go 
Out  of  your  eyes,  and  be  awhile  away ; 
Absence  or  distance  shall  not  breed  decay. 
Your  form  shines  here,  here,  fixed  in  my  heart : 
I  may  dilate  myself,  but  not  depart. 
Others  by  common  stars  their  courses  run, 
When  I  see  you,  then  I  do  see  my  sun : 
Till  then  'tis  all  but  darkness  that  I  have ; 
Rather  than  want  your  light,  1  wish  a  grave. 


LVIII. 
AN  ELEGY. 

To  make  the  doubt  clear,  that  no  woman's  true, 
Was  it  my  fate  to  prove  it  full  in  you?* 

*  To  make  the  doubt  clear,  that  no  woman's  true. 

Was  it  my  fate  to  prove  it  full  in  you  ?]  There  is  a  collection 
of  Dr.  Donne's  poems  in  8vo.  1669,  amongst  which  is  this  elegy  : 
how  it  came  there  I  know  not,  for  there  is  no  doubt  but  it  is 
Jonson's.  WHA.L. 

Whalley  appears  not  to  have  known  that  the  elegy  was 
printed  in  a  4to.  edition  of  Donne's  Poems,  which  came  out  in 
1633.  I  have  already  observed  that  there  was  a  mutual  com- 
munication of  MSS.  between  the  two  poets,  and  the  verses 
before  us  might  be  found  among  the  doctor's  papers,  (for  he 
was  now  dead)  and  published  by  his  son,  or  by  those  who  col. 
lected  them,  as  his  own. 

The  preceding  poem,  in  which  the  poet  so  ingenuously  con- 
fessed  his  fault,  and  so  earnestly  sued  for  pardon,  appears  to 
have  had  its  effect,  and  reconciled  the  lovers.  They  were  still, 
however,  imprudent :  the  lady  in  her  turn  trusted  a  false  friend, 
who  abused  her  confidence,  and  traduced  the  parties  to  each 
other,  till  he  had  stirred  up  a  mutual  jealousy,  and  finally  se- 
parated them.  On  the  discovery  of  this  treachery,  Jonson  writes 
the  second  elegy,  which,  like  the  first,  led  to  a  reconciliation. 

I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  person  to  whom  these  Elegies 
were  addressed.  I  once  thought  them  to  be  scholastic  exercises 


UNDERWOODS.  407 

Thought  I  but  one  had  breath'd  the  purer  air, 
And  must  she  needs  be  false,  because  she's  fair? 
Is  it  your  beauty's  mark,  or  of  your  youth, 
Or  your  perfection,  not  to  study  truth  ? 
Or  think  you  heaven  is  deaf,  or  hath  no  eyes, 
Or  those  it  hath  wink  at  your  perjuries  ? 
Are  vows  so  cheap  with  women  r  or  the  matter 
Whereof  they  are   made,  that  they  are  writ  in 

water, 

And  blown  away  with  wind  ?  or  doth  their  breath, 
Both  hot  and  cold  at  once,  threat  life  and  death? 
Who  could  have  thought  so  many  accents  sweet 
Tuned  to  our  words,  so  many  sighs  should  meet 
Blown  from  our  hearts,  so  many  oaths  and  tears 
Sprinkled  among,  all  sweeter  by  our  fears, 
And  the  divine  impression  of  stol'n  kisses, 
That  seaFd   the   rest,  could  now  prove  empty 

blisses  ? 

Did  you  draw  bonds  to  forfeit?  sign  to  break  ? 
Or  must  we  read  you  quite  from  what  you  speak, 
And  find  the  truth  out  the  wrong  way  ?  or  must 
He  first  desire  you  false,  would  wish  you  just? 
O,  I  profane !  though  most  of  women  be 
The  common  monster,  thought  shall  except  thee, 
My  dearest  love,  though  fro  ward  jealousy 
With  circumstance  might  urge  the  contrary. 
Sooner  I'll  think  the  sun  would  cease  to  cheer 
The  teeming  earth,  and  that  forget  to  bear  ; 
Sooner  that  rivers  would  run  back,  or  Thames 
With  ribs  of  ice  in  June  would  bind  his  streams  ; 
Or  Nature,  by  whose  strength  the  world  endures, 
Would  change  her  course,  before  you  alter  yours. 

like  the  desperate  love  verses  of  Donne  and  Cowley ;  but  they 
now  strike  me  as  too  earnest  for  any  thing  but  a  real  intrigue. 
The  text  of  the  folio  (the  blunders  of  which  I  am  weary  of 
noticing)  has  been  much  improved  by  a  collation  with  the  copy 
in  Donne's  works. 


408  UNDERWOODS; 

But,  O,  that  treacherous  breast !  to  whom  weak 

you 

Did  trust  our  counsels,  and  we  hoth  may  rue, 
Having  his  falsehood  found  too  late  !   'twas  he 
That  made  me  cast  you  guilty,  and  you  me; 
Whilst  he,  black  wretch,  betray'd   each  simple 

word 

We  spake,  unto  the  cunning  of  a  third  ! 
Curst  may  he  be,  that  so  our  love  hath  slain, 
And  wander  wretched  on  the  earth,  as  Cain  ; 
Wretched  as  he,  and  not  deserve  least  pity  ! 
In  plaguing  him,  let  misery  be  witty. 
Let  all  eyes  shun  him,  and  he  shun  each  eye, 
Till  he  be  noisome  as  his  infamy ; 
May  he  without  remorse  deny  God  thrice, 
And  not  be  trusted  more  on  his  soul's  price ; 
And  after  all  self-torment,  when  he  dies, 
May  wolves  tear  out  his  heart,  vultures  his  eyes, 
Swine  eat  his  bowels,  and  his  falser  tongue, 
That  utter'd  all,  be  to  some  raven  flung  ; 
And  let  his  carrion  corse  be  a  longer  feast 
To  the  king's  dogs,  than  any  other  beast ! 

Now  I  have  curst,  let  us  our  love  revive  ; 
In  me  the  flame  was  never  more  alive. 
I  could  begin  again  to  court  and  praise, 
And  in  that  pleasure  lengthen  the  short  days 
Of  my  life's  lease  ;  like  painters  that  do  take 
Delight,  not  in  made  works,  but  whilst  they  make. 
I  could  renew  those  times  when  first  I  saw 
Love  in  your  eyes,  that  gave  my  tongue  the  law 
To  like  what  you  liked,  and  at  masques  or  plays, 
Commend  the  self-same  actors  the  same  ways ; 
Ask  how  you  did,  and  often  with  intent 
Of  being  officious,  grow  impertinent ; 
All  which  were  such  soft  pastimes,  as  in  these 
Love  was  as  subtly  catch'd  as  a  disease. 
But,  being  got,  it  is  a  treasure  sweet, 
Which  to  defend,  is  harder  than  to  get ; 


UNDERWOODS.  409 

And  ought  not  be  profaned  on  either  part, 
For  though  'tis  got  by  chance,  'tis  kept  by  art. 

LIX. 
AN   ELEGY. 

That  love's  a  bitter  sweet,  I  ne'er  conceive, 
Till  the  sour  minute  comes  of  taking  leave, 
And  then  I  taste  it :  but  as  men  drink  up 
In  haste  the  bottom  of  a  med'cined  cup, 
And  take  some  sirup  after  ;  so  do  I, 
To  put  all  relish  from  my  memory 
Of  parting,  drown  it,  in  the  hope  to  meet 
Shortly  again,  and  make  our  absence  sweet. 
This  makes  me,    mistress,   that   sometimes    by 

stealth, 

Under  another  name,  I  take  your  health, 
And  turn  the  ceremonies  of  those  nights 
I  give,  or  owe  my  friends,  unto  your  rites ; 
But  ever  without  blazon,  or  least  shade 
Of  vows  so  sacred,  and  in  silence  made  : 
For  though  love  thrive,  and  may  grow  up  with 

cheer, 

And  free  society,  he's  born  elsewhere, 
And  must  be  bred,  so  to  conceal  his  birth, 
As  neither  wine  do  rack  it  out,  or  mirth. 
Yet  should  the  lover  still  be  airy'  and  light, 
In  all  his  actions,  rarified  to  sprite  : 
Not  like  a  Midas,  shut  up  in  himself, 
And  turning  all  he  toucheth  into  pelf, 
Keep  in  reserv'd  in  his  dark-lantern  face, 
As  if  that  excellent  dulness  were  love's  grace  : 

No,  mistress,  no,  the  open,  merry,  man 
Moves  like  a  sprightly  river,  and  yet  can 
Keep  secret  in  his  channels  what  he  breeds, 
'Bove  all  your    standing   waters,  choak'd  with 

weeds. 


410  UNDERWOODS. 

They  look  at  best  like  cream-bowls,  and  you  soon 
Shall  find  their  depth  ;  they  are  sounded  with  a 

spoon. 
They  may  say  grace,  and  for.  Love's  chaplains 

pass, 

But  the  grave  lover  ever  was  an  ass  ; 
Is  fix'd  upon  one  leg,3  and  dares  not  come 
Out  with  the  other,  for  he's  still  at  home  : 
Like  the  dull  wearied  crane,  that,  come  on  land, 
Doth  while  he  keeps  his  watch,  betray  his  stand  ; 
Where  he  that  knows  will  like  a  lapwing  fly 
Far  from  the  nest,  and  so  himself  belie 
To  others,  as  he  will  deserve  the  trust 
Due  to  that  one  that  doth  believe  him  just. 
And  such  your  servant  is,  who  vows  to  keep 
The  jewel  of  your  name,  as  close  as  sleep 
Can  lock  the  sense  up,  or  the  heart  a  thought, 
And  never  be  by  time  or  folly  brought, 
Weakness  of  brain,  or  any  charm  of  wine, 
The  sin  of  boast,  or  other  countermine, 
Made  to  blow  up  love's  secrets,  to  discover 
That  article  may  not  become  your  lover: 

3  Isjix'd  upon  one  kg,  &c.]  Jonson,  like  Donne,  seems  fond 
of  drawing  illustrations  from  this  familiar  implement.  In  his 
verses  to  Seldec,  p.  365,  he  has  done  it  very  gracefully : 

"  You  that  have  been 

Ever  at  home,  yet  have  all  countries  seen  ; 
And,  like  a  compass,  keeping  one  foot  still 
Upon  your  center,  do  your  circle  fill 
Of  general  knowledge." — 

Donne  is  yet  more  fanciful  and  ingenious.  He  says  to  a  wife 
who  remains  at  home  while  her  husband  is  abroad  : 

l(  Thy  soul,  the  fix'd  foot,  makes  no  show 
To  move,  but  doth  if  th'  other  do  : 
And  though  it  in  the  center  sit, 

Yet,  when  the  other  far  doth  roam, 
It  leans,  and  hearkens  after  it, 

And  grows  erect  as  that  comes  home." 


UNDERWOODS.  411 

Which  in  assurance  to  your  breast  I  tell, 
If  I  had  writ  no  word,  but,  Dear,  farewell ! 

LX. 
AN    ELEGY. 

Since  you  must  go,  and  I  must  bid  farewell, 
Hear,  mistress,  your  departing  servant  tell 
What  it  is  like :  and  do  not  think  they  can 
Be  idle  words,  though  of  a  parting  man. 
It  is  as  if  a  night  should  shade  noon-day, 
Or  that  the  sun  was  here,  but  forced  away  ; 
And  we  were  left  under  that  hemisphere, 
Where  we  must  feel  it  dark  for  half  a  year. 
What  fate  is  this,  to  change  men's  days  and  hours, 
To  shift  their  seasons,  and  destroy  their  powers  ! 
Alas  i  I  have  lost  my  heat,  my  blood,  my  prime, 
Winter  is  come  a  quarter  ere  his  time. 
My  health  will  leave  me  ;  and  when  you  depart, 
How  shall  I  do,  sweet  mistress,  for  my  heart  ? 
You  would  restore  it!  no ;  that's  worth  a  fear, 
As  if  it  were  not  worthy  to  be  there : 
O  keep  it  still ;  for  it  had  rather  be 
Your  sacrifice,  than  here  remain  with  me. 
And  so  I  spare  it :  come  what  can  become 
Of  me,  I'll  softly  tread  unto  my  tomb  ; 
Or,  like  a  ghost,  walk  silent  amongst  men, 
Till  I  may  see  both  it  and  you  agen. 

LXI. 
AN   ELEGY. 

Let  me  be  what  I  am  :  as  Virgil  cold, 
As  Horace  fat,  or  as  Anacreon  old  ; 


412  UNDERWOODS. 

No  poet's  verses  yet  did  ever  move, 

Whose  readers  did  not  think  he  was  in  love. 

Who  shall  forbid  me  then  in  rhyme  to  be 

As  light,  and  active  as  the  youngest  he 

That  from  the  Muses  fountains  doth  endorse 

His  lines,  and  hourly  sits  the  poet's  horse? 

Put  on  my  ivy  garland,  let  me  see 

Who  frowns,  who  jealous  is,  who  taxeth  me. 

Fathers  and  husbands,  I  do  claim  a  right 

In  all  that  is  call'd  lovely  ;  take  my  sight, 

Sooner  than  my  affection  from  the  fair. 

No  face,  no  hand,  proportion,  line  or  air 

Of  beauty,  but  the  muse  hath  interest  in  : 

There  is  not  worn  that  lace,  purl,  knot,  or  pin, 

But  is  the  poet's  matter;  and  he  must, 

When  he  is  furious,  love,  although  not  lust. 

Be  then  content,  your  daughters  and  your  wives, 

If  they  be  fair  and  worth  it,  have  their  lives 

Made  longer  by  our  praises ;  or,  if  not, 

Wish  you  had  foul  ones,  and  deformed  got, 

Curst  in  their  cradles,  or  there  chang'd  by  elves, 

So  to  be  sure  you  do  enjoy,  yourselves. 

Yet  keep  those  up  in  sackcloth  too,  or  leather, 

For  silk  will  draw  some sneakingsongster thither. 

It  is  a  rhyming  age,  and  verses  swarm 

At  every  stall ;  the  city  cap's  a  charm. 

But  I  who  live,  and  have  lived  twenty  year, 
Where  I  may  handle  silk  as  free,  and  near, 
As  any  mercer,  or  the  whale- bone  man, 
That  quilts  those  bodies  I  have  leave  to  span ; 
Have  eaten  with  the  beauties,  and  the  wits, 
And  braveries  of  court,  and  felt  their  fits 
Of  love  and  hate;  and  came  so  nigh  to  know 
Whether  their  faces  were  their  own  or  no  : 
It  is  not  likely  I  should  now  look  down 
Upon  a  velvet  petticoat,  or  a  gown, 


UNDERWOODS.  413 

Whose  like  I  have  known  the  tailor's  wife  put  on,4 
To  do  her  husband's  rites  in,  ere  'twere  gone 
Home  to  the  customer :  his  letchery 
Being  the  best  clothes  still  to  preoccupy. 
Put  a  coach-mare  in  tissue,  must  I  horse 
Her  presently?  or  leap  thy  wife,  offeree, 
When  by  thy  sordid  bounty  she  hath  on 
A  gown  of  that  was  the  caparison  ? 
So  I  might  doat  upon  thy  chairs  and  stools, 
That  are  like  cloth'd :  must  I  be  of  those  fools 
Of  race  accounted,  that  no  passion  have, 
But  when  thy  wife,  as  thou  conceiv'st,  is  brave? 
Then  ope  thy  wardrobe,  think  me  that  poor  groom 
That,  from  the  footman,  when  he  was  become 
An  officer  there,  did  make  most  solemn  love 
To  every  petticoat  he  brush'd,  and  glove 
He  did  lay  up  ;  and  would  adore  the  shoe 
Or  slipper  was  left  off,  and  kiss  it  too  ; 
Court  every  hanging  gown,  and  after  that 
Lift  up  some  one,  and  do — I  tell  not  what. 
Thou  didst  tell  me,  and  wert  o'erjoyed  to  peep 
In  at  a  hole,  and  see  those  actions  creep 
From  the  poor  wretch,  which  though  he  plaid  in 

prose, 

He  would  have  done  in  verse,  with  any  of  those 
Wrung  on  the  withers  by  lord  Love's  despite, 
Had  he  the  faculty  to  read  and  write  ! 

*  Whose  like  I  have  known  the  tailor's  wife  put  on,  &c.]  Whe- 
ther this  be  the  original  sketch  of  the  countess  Pinnacia  Stuffe 
in  the  New  Inn,  or  be  itself  taken  from  that  unfortunate  play, 
as  the  lines  are  not  dated,  cannot  be  told;  the  resemblance, 
however,  is  perfect: 

"  Master  Stuffe, 

When  he  makes  any  fine  garment  that  will  suit  me, 
Or  any  rich  thing  that  he  thinks  of  price, 
Then  must  I  put  it  on,"  &c. 


414  UNDERWOODS. 

Such  songsters  there  are  store  of;  witness  he 
That  chanc'd  the  lace,  laid  on  a  smock,  to  see, 
And  straightway  spent  a  sonnet;  with  that  other 
That,  in  pure  madrigal,  unto  his  mother 
Commended  the  French  hood  and  scarlet  gown 
The  lady  may'ress  pass'd  in  through  the  town, 
Unto  the  Spittle  sermon.5  O  what  strange 
Variety  of  silks  were  on  the  Exchange! 
Or  in  Moor- fields,  this  other  night,  sings  one! 
Another  answers,  'las  !  those  silks  are  none, 
In  smiling  1'envoy,'  as  he  would  deride 
Any  comparison  had  with  his  Cheapside; 
And  vouches  both  the  pageant  and  the  day, 
When  not  the  shops,  but  windows  do  display 
The  stuffs,  the  velvets,  plushes,  fringes,  lace, 
And  all  the  original  riots  of  the  place. 
Let  the  poor  fools  enjoy  their  follies,  love 
A  goat  in  velvet ;  or  some  block  could  move 
Under  that  cover,  an  old  midwife's  hat ! 
Or  a  close-stool  so  cased  ;  or  any  fat 
Bawd,  in  a  velvet  scabbard  !   I  envy 
None  of  their  pleasures  ;  nor  will  ask  thee  why 
Thou  art  jealous  of  thy  wife's  or  daughter's  case; 
More  than  of  cither's  manners,  wit,  or  face  ! 

5  Unto  the  Spittle  sermon.~\  The  Spittle  sermons  were  preached 
at  that  time,  in  a  pulpit  erected  for  the  purpose,  in  what  is  now 
called  Spittle  Square.  They  lasted  through  the  Easter  week. 

6  In  smiling  1'envoy.]  i.  e.  in  a  kind  of  supercilious  close. 
For  V envoy,  see  vol.  iii.  p.  478. 


UNDERWOODS.  415 

LXII. 

AN  EXECRATION  UPON 
VULCAN. 

And  why  to  me  this  ?  thou  lame  Lord  of  Fire  !  ? 
What  had  I  done  that  might  call  on  thine  ire  ? 
Or  urge  thy  greedy  flames  thus  to  devour 
So  many  my  years'  labours  in  an  hour? 
I  ne'er  attempted  aught  against  thy  life  ; 
Nor  made  least  line  of  love  to  thy  loose  wife  ; 
Or  in  remembrance  of  thy  affront  and  scorn, 
With  clowns  and  tradesmen,  kept  thee  clos'd  in 

horn.* 

'Twas  Jupiter  that  hurl'd  thee  headlong  down, 
And  Mars  that  gave  thee  a  lantern  fora  crown. 
Was  it  because  thou  wert  of  old  denied, 
By  Jove,  to  have  Minerva  for  thy  bride  ; 
That  since,  thou  tak'st  all  envious  care  and  pain 
To  ruin  every  issue  of  the  brain  ? 

Had  I  wrote  treason  here,  or  heresy, 
Imposture,  witchcraft,  charms,  or  blasphemy ; 
I  had  deserv'd  then  thy  consuming  looks, 
Perhaps  to  have  been  burned  with  my  books. 

7  And  why  to  me,  &c.]    Thig  poem  has  no  date  affixed  to  it : 
it  was  printed  in  4to.  and  I2mo.  1640,  and  again  in  the  folio 
of  that  year  ;  the  present  text  has  been  formed  from  a  careful 
collation  of  all  the  copies. 

There  is  a  degree  of  wit  and  vivacity  in  these  verses  which 
does  no  little  credit  to  the  equanimity  of  the  poet,  who  speaks 
of  a  loss  so  irreparable  to  him,  not  only  with  forbearance,  but 
with  pleasantry  and  good  humour.  The  lame  lord  is  from 
Catullus : 

Scripta  tardipedi  deo  daturum 
Infelicibus  ustulandaflammis, 

8  With  clowns  and  tradesmen  kept  thee  clos'd  in  horn.~\     This  is 
a  joke  of  very  ancient  standing  :    Heus  tu,  qui  Vulcanwn  con- 
dusum  in  cornu  geritf    Plaut.  Amphytr.     WHAL. 


416  UNDERWOODS. 

But,  on  thy  malice,  tell  me,  Didst  thou  spy 
Any  least  loose  or  scurril  paper  lie 
Conceal'd,  or  kept  there,  that  was  fit  to  be, 
By  thy  own  vote,  a  sacrifice  to  thee  ? 
Did  I  there  wound  the  honour  of  the  crown, 
Or  tax  the  glory  of  the  church,  or  gown? 
Itch  to  defame  the  state,  or  brand  the  times, 
And  myself  most,  in  lewd  self-boasting  rhymes? 
If  none  of  these,  then  why  this  fire?  Or  find 
A  cause  before,  or  leave  me  one  behind. 
Had  I  compiled  from  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
The  Esplandians,  Arthurs,  Palmerins,  and  all 
The  learned  library  of  Don  Quixote, 
And  so  some  goodlier  monster  had  begot ; 
Or  spun  out  riddles,  or  weav'd  fifty  tomes 
Of  Logographes,  or  curious  Palindromes, 
Or  pump'd  for  those  hard  trifles,  Anagrams, 
Or  Eteostics,  or  your  finer  flams 
Of  eggs,  and  halberds,  cradles,  and  a  herse, 
A  pair  of  scissars,  and  a  comb  in  verse  ; 
Acrostichs,  and  telestichs  on  jump  names,' 
Thou  then  hadst  had  some  colour  for  thy  flames, 
On  such  my  serious  follies  :  but,  thou'lt  say, 
There  were  some  pieces  of  as  base  allay, 
And  as  false  stamp  there  ;  parcels  of  a  play, 
Fitter  to  see  the  fire-light,  than  the  day ; 
Adulterate  monies,  such  as  would  not  go  : — 
Thou  shouldst  have  staid,  till  public  Fame  said  so  ; 

'  Acrostichs,  and  tclestichs,  &c.]  All  these  fooleries  in  verse 
were  practised  ages  ago,  by  writers  who  atoned  for  want  of 
genius  by  the  labour  of  their  compositions.  This  is  Whalley's 
remark,  and  it  was  undoubtedly  so ;  but  the  folly  was  again 
become  epidemic,  in  consequence  of  the  publication  of  Putten- 
ham's/7rte  of  English  Poetrie9  in  which  ''  these  prettie  conceits, 
eggs,  altars,  wings, lozenges,  rondels,  and  piramids"  are  recom- 
mended to  the  poet's  imitation.  "  At  the  beginning''  (he  says) 
they  will  seeme  nothing  pleasant  to  the  English  earc  ;  but  time 
and  usage  will  make  them  acceptable  inough.'' 


UNDERWOODS.  417 

She  is  the  judge,  them  executioner  : 

Or,  if  thou   needs  would'st    trench   upon    her 

power, 

Thou  might'st  have  yet  enjoy'd  thy  cruelty 
With  some  more  thrift,  and  more  variety : 
Thou  might'st  have  had  me  perish  piece  by  piece, 
To  light  tobacco,  or  save  roasted  geese, 
Singe  capons,  or  crisp  pigs,  dropping  their  eyes; 
Condemn'd  me  to  the  ovens  with  the  pies  ;* 
And  so  have  kept  me  dying  a  whole  age, 
Not  ravish'd  all  hence  in  a  minute's  rage.— 
But  that's  a  mark  whereof  thy  rites  do  boast, 
To  make  consumption  ever  where  thou  go'st. 

Had  I  foreknown  of  this  thy  least  desire 
To  have  held  a  triumph,  or  a  feast  of  fire, 
Especially  in  paper;  that  that  steam 
Had  tickled  thy  large  nostrils  ;  many  a  ream, 
To  redeem  mine,  I  had  sent  in :  ENOUGH  ! 
Thou  shouldst  have  cried,  and  all  been  proper 

stuff. 

The  Talmud  and  the  Alcoran  had  come, 
With  pieces  of  the  Legend  ;  *  the  whole  sum 
Of   errant    knighthood,  with   the   dames   and 

dwarfs; 

The  charmed  boats,  and  the  inchanted  wharfs, 
The  Tristrams,  Lancelots,  Turpins,  and  the  Peers, 
All  the  mad  Rolands,  and  sweet  Olivers ; 
To  Merlin's  marvels,  and  his  Cabal's  loss, 
With  the  chimera  of  the  Rosie-cross, 
Their  seals,  their  characters,  hermetic  rings, 
Their  jem  of  riches,  and  bright  stone  that  brings 

*  The  MS.  of  this  piece  in  the  British  Museum  reads,  with 
more  variety, 

"  Clothe  spices,  or  guard  sweet-meats  from  the  flies." 

•  With  pieces  of  the  Legend.]  The  Lives  of  the  Saints:  theae 
are  well  coupled  with  the  Jewish  and  Mahomedan  dreami. 

VOL.  viir,  E  e 


418  UNDERWOODS. 

Invisibility,  and  strength,  and  tongues ; 
The  art  of  kindling  the  true  coal  by  Lungs; 
With  Nicolas'  Pasquils,  Meddle  with  your  match. 
And  the  strong  lines  that  do  the  times  so  catch  ;* 
Or  captain  Pamphlet's  horse  and  foot,  that  sally 
Upon  the  Exchangestill,  out  of  Pope's-head  alley; 
The  weekly  courants,  with  Paul's  seal ;  *  and  all 
The  admired  discourses  of  the  prophet  Ball. 

These,  hadst  thou  pleas'd  either  to  dine  or  sup, 
Had  made  a  meal  for  Vulcan  to  lick  up.4 
But,  in  my  desk,  what  was  there  to  accite 
So  ravenous  and  vast  an  appetite  ? 
I  dare  not  say  a  body,  but  some  parts 
There  were  of  search,  and  mastery  in  the  arts. 
All  the  old  Venusine,  in  poetry, 
And  lighted  by  the  Stagerite,  could  spy, 
Was  there  made  English  ;  with  a  grammar  too, 
To  teach  some  that  their  nurses  could  not  do,* 

*  The  art  of  kindling  the  true  coal  by  Lungs  ; 
With  Nicolas'  Pasquils,  Meddle  with  your  match. 
And,  the  strong  lines  that  do  the  times  so  catch.]  Lungs  (see 
yol.  vi.  p.  46)  were  the  unhappy  drudges  kept  by  the  alche- 
mists to  blow  their  true  (i.  e.  their  beechen)  coal ;  for  bellows 
were  not  used  by  them. 

Nicolas  is  probably  Nic.  Breton,  a  voluminous  publisher, 
who  has  many  little  pieces  under  the  name  of  Pasquil:  such  as 
Pasquil's  Passion,  Pasquil's  Mad-cap,  &c.  In  the  pointing  this 
line,  the  MS.  in  the  British  Museum  has  been  followed.  The 
strong  lines,  &c.  are  the  political  satires  which  were  now  dis- 
persed in  great  numbers,  and  caught  the  times  but  too  success- 
fully. 

J  The  weekly  courants,  with  Paul's  seal,  &c.]  A  sarcastical  al- 
lusion to  the  stories  fabricated  by  the  idle  walkers  in  St.  Paul's, 
and  weekly  detailed  by  Butter  and  others  as  authentic  intelli- 
gence. For  the  prophet  Ball,  see  vol.  v.  p.  241. 

4 a  wealjor  Vulcan  to  lick  up.J     Thus  Pope  : 

"  From  shelf  to  shelf  see  greedy  Vulcan  roll, 
And  lick  up  all  the  physic  of  the  soul." 

*  All  the  old  Venusine,  &c.]     He  alludes  to  his  translation  of 


UNDERWOODS.  419 

The  purity  of  Language ;  and,  among 
The  rest,  my  journey  into  Scotland  sung, 
With  all  the  adventures  :  three  books,  not  afraid 
To  speak  the  fate  of  the  Sicilian  maid, 
To  our  own  ladies  ;  and  in  story  there 
Of  our  fifth  Henry,  eight  of  his  nine  year; 
Wherein  was  oil,  beside  the  succours  spent, 
Which  noble  Carew,  Cotton,  Selden  lent : 
And  twice  twelve  years  stored  up  humanity, 
With  humble  gleanings  in  divinity  ; 
After  the  fathers,  and  those  wiser  guides, 
Whom  faction  had  not  drawn  to  study  sides. 

How  in  these  ruins,  Vulcan,  dost  thou  lurk, 
All  soot  and  embers  !  odious  as  thy  work  1 
I  now  begin  to  doubt  if  ever  Grace, 
Or  goddess,  could  be  patient  of  thy  face. 
Thou  woo  Minerva !   or  to  wit  aspire  ! 
'Cause  thou  canst  halt  with  us  in  arts  and  fire  ! 
Son  of  the  Wind !  for  so  thy  mother,  gone 
With  lust,  conceiv'd  thee;  father  thou  hadstnone. 

Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  illustrated  with  notes  from  Aristotle's 
Poetics.  The  translation  is  preserved  ;  and  much  of  what  seemed 
to  have  been  intended  for  the  notes  is  likewise  to  be  met 
with  in  the  Discoveries :  the  Grammar  is  also  preserved,  and 
printed.  WHAL. 

Literature  sustained  no  little  loss  by  the  destruction  of  the 
Art  of  Poetry ,  illustrated,  as  it  appears  to  have  been,  by  a  per- 
petual commentary  from  Aristotle.  If  any  part  of  the  Disco- 
veries were  appended  as  notes,  to  the  translation,  it  could  not 
be  very  considerable.  What  we  have  now,  forms,  I  believe,  but 
a  small  part  of  the  original  matter ;  consisting  of  occasional 
recollections  only,  set  down,  as  they  occurred,  and  several  of 
them  evidently  of  a  late  date.  The  translation  itself,  perhaps, 
is  not  what  it  was  at  first ;  for  the  two  copies  of  it  which  have 
reached  us,  and  which  may  be  only  transcripts  of  transcripts, 
differ  from  each  other  in  numberless  instances.  Whallcy  is 
evidently  wrong  also  in  what  he  says  of  the  Grammar.  The 
perfect  copy  was  destroyed ;  and  all  that  is  come  down  to  us 
are  mere  fragments  ;  parts,  indeed,  of  the  original  materials, 
but  dislocated,  and  imperfect. 


420  UNDERWOODS. 

When  thou  wert  born,  and  that  thou  look'dst  at 

best, 

She  durst  not  kiss,  but  flung  thee  from  her  breast; 
And  so  did  Jove,  who  ne'er  meant  thee  his  cup. 
No  marie  the  clowns  of  Lemnos  took  thee  up ! 
Foi  none  but  smiths  would  have  made  thee  a  god. 
Some  alchemist  there  may  be  yet,  or  odd 
'Squire  of  the  squibs,  against  the  pageant-day, 
May  to  thy  name  a  VULCANALE  say  ; 
And  for  it  lose  his  eyes  with  gun-powder, 
As  th*  other  may  his  brains  with  quicksilver. — 
Well  fare  the  wise  men  yet,  on  the  Bank-side, 
My  friends,  the  watermen  !  they  could  provide 
Against  thy  fury,  when  to  serve  their  needs, 
They  made  a  Vulcan  of  a  sheaf  of  reeds, 
Whom  they  durst  handle  in  their  holiday  coats, 
And  safely  trust  to  dress,  not  burn  their  boats. 
But,  O  those  reeds  !  thy  mere  disdain  of  them, 
Made  thee  beget  that  cruel  stratagem, 
Which  some  are  pleased  to  style  but  thy  mad 

prank, 
Against  the  Globe,  the  glory  of  the  Bank :  * 

•  Against  the  Globe,  the  glory  of  the  Bank.]  The  Globe  play- 
house, situate  on  the  Bank-side*  burnt  down  about  this  time. 

WHAL. 

About  what  time  ?  The  only  notice  which  we  hay«  of  this 
poem  is  found  in  a  letter  by  Howell  "  to  his  father,  master  Ben 
Jonson,"  dated  27th  June,  1629.  "  Desiring  you  to  look  better 
hereafter  to  your  charcole  fire  and  chimney,  which  I  am  glad 
to  be  one  that  preserved  from  burning,  this  being  the  second  time 
that  Vulcan  hath  threatened  you  ; — it  may  be  because  you  hare 
spoken  ill  of  his  wife,  and  been  too  busy  with  his  horns;  I 
rest  your  son,  &c.  Here  the  allusion  is  evidently  to  the  first 
ten  lines  of  the  "  Execration  :"  but  this  decides  nothing  with 
respect  to  the  period  of  its  fitet  appearance. 

The  date  of  the  fire  at  the  Globe  can  be  distinctly  ascertained 
from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Chamberlaine  to  sir  Ralph  Win  wood, 
among  the  State  papers. 

"  The  burning  of  the  Globe,  or  Playhouse  OB  the  Bankiide, 


UNDERWOODS.  421 

Which,  though  it  were  the  fort  of  the  whole 

parish, 
Flank'd  with  a  ditch,  and  forced  out  of  a  marish, 


o»  St.  Peter's  day  cannot  escape  you  ;  which  fell  out  by  a 
peale  of  chambers,  that  I  know  not  upon  what  occasion  were 
to  be  used  in  the  play  : — the  tompin  or  stopple  of  one  of  them 
lighting  in  the  thatch  that  covered  the  house,  burned  it  down 
to  the  ground  in  less  than  two  hours,  with  a  dwelling  house 
adjoining  ;  and  it  was  a  great  marvaile  and  fair  grace  of  God 
that  the  people  had  so  little  harm,  having  but  two  narrow  doors 
to  get  out."  July  8th,  1613. 

It  is  useless  to  inquire  why  Jonson,  whose  memory,  though 
less  retentive  than  formerly,  was  yet  perhaps  sufficiently  strong, 
remained  inactive  ;  but  with  the  exception  of  the  two  fragments 
just  mentioned,  he  apparently  made  no  effort  to  repair  his  loss. 

The  Journey  into  Scotland  was  the  ever  memorable  visit  to 
Drummond,  "  that  false  friend,"  as  Chetwood  calls  him,  "  who 
treats  the  memory  of  Ben  as  if  he  were  an  idle  madman." 
Druramond  could  not  appear  more  base  than  he  now  does— -but, 
such  was  the  honest  warmth  and  affection  of  Jonson — had  this 
poem  survived,  his  admirers  would  not  have  dared  to  insult  the 
common  sense  and  feeling  of  mankind  by  terming  the  splenetic 
hypocrite  the  friend  of  Jonson. 

The  Rape  of  Proserpine  may  not  perhaps  be  much  regretted : 
but  the  destruction  of  the  History  of  Henry  Jift  ft,  which  was  so 
nearly  completed,  must  ever  be  considered  as  a  serious  mis- 
fortune. The  vigor  and  masculine  elegance  of  Jonson's  style, 
the  clearness  of  his  judgment,  the  precision  of  his  intelligence, 
aided  by  the  intimate  knowledge  of  domestic  and  geueral  history 
possessed  byCarew,  (George,  lord  Carew,)  Cotton,  and  Selden, 
three  of  the  most  learned  men  of  that  or  any  other  age,  could 
not  have  been  exerted  without  producing  a  work,  of  which,  if 
spared  to  us,  we  might  be  justly  proud. 

Of  the  value  of  the  philological  collections  of  twenty-four  year$t 
some  idea  may  be  formed  from  what  remains  of  the  Discoveries 
or  notes  on  the  Poetics  of  Aristotle  and  Horace ;  and  the  Clean- 
ings in  Divinity,  if  they  had  not  answered  a  nobler  and  better 
purpose,  would  at  least  serve  to  bring  additional  shame  on  those 
who,  in  defiance  of  so  many  proofs  to  the  contrary,  spitefully 
persist  in  accusing  the  poet  of  a  marked  indifference  to  re- 
ligion, or,  yet  worse,  of  a  restless  tendency  to  ridicule  and 
profane  it. 


4«2      UNDERWOODS. 

I  saw  with  two  poor  chambers  taken  in/ 

And  razed  ;    ere  thought  could  urge  this  might 

have  been ! 

See  the  World's  ruins  !  nothing  but  the  piles 
Left,  and  wit  since  to  cover  it  with  tiles. 
The  brethren  they  straight  nosed  it  out  for  news, 
'Twas  verily  some  relict  of  the  stews  ; 
And  this  a  sparkle  of  that  fire  let  loose, 
That  was  raked  up  in  the  Winchestrian  goose, 
Bred  on  the  Bank  in  time  of  Popery, 
When  Venus  there  maintain'd  the  mystery.* 
But  others  fell,  with  that  conceit,  by  the  ears, 
And  cried  it  was  a  threatning  to  the  bears, 
And  that  accursed  ground,  the  Paris-garden  : 
Nay,  sigh'd  a  sister,  Venus'  nun,  Kate  Arden, 
Kindled  the  fire! — but  then,  did  one  return, 
No  fool  would  his  own  harvest  spoil  or  burn  ! — 
If  that  were  so,  thou  rather  wouidst  advance 
The  place  that  was  thy  wife's  inheritance. 
O  no,  cried  all,  Fortune,  for  being  a  whore, 
Scap'd  not  his  justice  any  jot  the  more  : ' 

1  I  saw  with  two  poor  chambers  taken  in.]  i.  e.  destroyed 
•with  two  small  pieces  of  ordnance. 

'And  this  a  sparkle  of that Jire  let  loose, 

That  was  raked  up  in  the  Winchestrian  goose, 
Bred  on  the  Bank  in  time  of  Popery , 

When  Venus  there  maintained  the  mystery.]  Anciently  the 
Bank.side  was  a  continued  row  of  brothels,  which  were  put  down 
by  proclamation  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  As  this  place  was 
within  the  limits  of  the  bishop  of  Winchester's  jurisdiction,  a 
person  who  had  suffered  in  venereal  combats,  was  opprobriously 
called  a  Winchester  goose.  WHAX. 
9  — — —  Fortune,  for  being  a  whore, 

'Scap'd  not  his  justice  any  Jot  the  more."]  There  was  in  the 
city  a  theatre  called  the  Fortune  play-house^  which  likewise  suf- 
fered by  fire  about  this  time.  WHAL. 

Again  !  about  this  time.  This  is  a  very  convenient  mode  of 
fixing  events.  But  the  Fortune  was  not  burnt  down  till  more 
than  eight  years  after  the  Globe,  that  is,  not  till  1621. 


UNDERWOODS.  423 

He  burnt  that  idol  of  the  Revels  too. 
Nay,  let  Whitehall  with  revels  have  to  do, 
Though  but  in  dances,  it  shall  know  his  power; 
There  was  a  judgment  shewn  too  in  an  hour. 
He  is  right  Vulcan  still  !  he  did  not  spare 
Troy,  though  it  were  so  much  his  Venus'  care. 
Fool,  wilt  thou  let  that  in  example  come  ? 
Did  not  she  save  from  thence  to  build  a  Rome  ? 
And  what  hast  thou  done  in  these  petty  spites, 
More  than  advanced  the  houses  and  their  rites? 
I  will  not  argue  thee,  from  those,  of  guilt, 
For  they  were  burnt  but  to  be  better  built  : 
Tis  true,  that  in  thy  wish  they  were  destroy'd, 
Which  thou  hast  only  vented,  not  enjoy'd. 

It    appears  from  Heywood's    English   Travellers,  that  this 
theatre  took  its  name  from  a  figure  of  Fortune  : 

Old  Lio.  "  Sirrah,  come  down. 

Reig.  Not  till  my  pardon's  seal'd  :  I'll  rather  stand  here> 
Like  a  statue,  in  the  full  front  of  your  house 
For  ever ;  like  the  picture  of  dame  Fortune, 
Before  the  Fortune  play-bouse.'' 

In  the  preface  to  this  comedy,  Heywood  says,  "  that  mo- 
desty prevents  him  from  exposing*  his  plays  to  the  public  view 
in  numerous  sheets,  and  a  large  volume,  under  the  title  of 
works,  as  others."  Here,  says  the  Biographia  Dramatic!*,  a 
stroke  was  probably  aimed  at  Ben  Jonson,  uho  gave  his  plays 
the  pompous  title  of  "  Works.''  This  stupid  falsehood  has  been 
repeated  a  thousand  times.  Jonsou  no  more  gave  his  plays  the 
title  of  Works,  than  Shakspeare,  Fletcher,  Shirley,  or  any 
other  writer  ;  nor  is  there  a  single  instance  of  such  a  fact  in 
existence.  The  whole  matter  is,  that,  when  he  collected  his 
various  pieces,  consisting  of  Comedies,  Tragedies,  Masque*,  En- 
tertainments, Epigrams,  and  a  selection  of  Poetry,  under  the 
name  of  Forest,  with  equal  taste  and  judgment,  and  with  a  clas- 
sical contempt  of  the  mountebank  titles  of  his  time,  he  called 
the  multifarious  assemblage  simply  "  The  Works  of  Ben 
Jonson."  For  this  proof  of  his  good  souse,  he  was  slandered 
even  in  his  own  time ;  and  the  charge  of  arrogance  and  vanity 
is,  in  OUT'BJ  still  repeated  from  fool  to  fool. 


424  UNDERWOODS. 

So  would'st  thou've  run  upon  the  rolls  by  stealth,* 
And  didst  invade  part  of  the  common- wealth, 
In  those  records,  which,  were  all  chronicles  gone, 
Would  be  remembered  by  Six  Clerks  to  one. 
But  say  all  six,  good  men,  what  answer  ye  ? 
Lies  there  no  writ  out  of  the  Chancery 
Against  this  Vulcan?   no  injunction, 
No  order,  no  decree  ? — though  we  be  gone 
At  common-law ;  methiriks,  in  his  despite, 
A  court  of  equity  should  do  us  right. 
But  to  confine  him  to  the  brew-houses, 
The  glass-house,  dye- fats,  and  their  furnaces ; 
To  live  in  sea-coal,  and  go  forth  in  smoke; 
Or,  lest  that  vapour  might  the  city  choak, 
Condemn  him  to  the  brick-kilns,  or  some  hill- 
Foot,  (out  in  Sussex,)  to  an  iron  mill; 
Or  in  small  faggots  have  him  blaze  about 
Vile  taverns,  and  the  drunkards  piss  him  out; 
Or  in  the  Bellman's  Ian  thorn,  like  a  spy, 
Burn  to  a  snuff,  and  then  stink  out  and  die  : 
I  could  invent  a  sentence,  yet  were  worse ; 
But  I'll  conclude  all  in  a  civil  curse. 
Pox  on  your  flameship,  Vulcan  !  if  it  be 
To  all  as  fatal  as't  hath  been  to  me, 
And  to  Paul's  steeple ;  which  was  unto  us 
'Bove  all  your  fire-works  had  at  Ephesus, 
Or  Alexandria  ;a  and,  though  a  divine 
Loss,  remains  yet  as  unrepaired  as  mine. 

1  So  would'st  thou've  run  upon  the  rolls,  &c.]  This  alludes  to 
a  fire  which  took  place  in  the  Six  Clerks  Office ;  bat  I  cannot 
specify  ihe  date  of  it :  nor  of  that  at  Whitehall,  mentioned  ia 
the  preceding  page. 

*  'Bove  all  your  fire-works  had  at  Ephesus 

And  Alexandria.]    The  burning  of  the  temple  of  Dian    at 
Ephesus,  and  the  library  at  Alexandria.     WHAI. 


UNDERWOODS.  425 

Would  you  had  kept  your  forge  at  $ltna  still ! 
And  there  made  swords,  bills,  glaves,  and  arms 

your  fill: 

Maintain'd  the  trade  at  Bilboa,  or  elsewhere, 
Struck  in  at  Milan  with  the  cutlers  there ; 
Or  staid  but  where  the  friar  and  you  first  met, 
Who  from  the  devil's  arse  did  guns  beget  , 
Or  fixt    in    the    Low    Countries,    where    you 

might 

On  both  sides  do  your  mischief  with  delight: 
Blow  up  and  ruin,  mine  and  countermine, 
Make  your  petards  and  granades,  all  your  fine 
Engines  of  murder,  and  enjoy  the  praise 
Of  massacring  mankind  so  many  ways  ! 
We  ask  your  absence  here,  we  all  love  peace, 
And  pray  the  fruits  thereof  and  the  encrt-ase; 
So  doth  the  king,  and  most  of  the  king's  men 
That  have  good  places :  therefore  once  agen, 
Pox  on  thee,  Vulcan  !  thy  Pandora's  pox, 
And  all  the  ills  that  flew  out  of  her  box 
Light  on  thee  !  or,  if  those  plagues  will  not  do, 
Thy  wife's  pox  on  thee,  and  BessBroughton's  too ! 


LXIII. 

A  SPEECH, 

ACCORDING  TO  HORACE. 

Why  yet,  my  noble  hearts,  they  cannot  say, 
But  we  have  powder  still  for  the  king's  day, 
And  ordnance  too  :  so  much  as  from  the  Towe.r, 
T'  have  wak'd,  if  sleeping,    Spain's    ambassa- 
dour, 


426  UNDERWOODS. 

Old  JEsop  Gundomar  :3  the  French  can  tell, 
For  they  did  see  it  the  last  tilting  well, 
That  we  have  trumpets,  armour,  and  great  horse, 
Lances  and  men,  and  some  a  breaking  force. 
They  saw  too  store  of  feathers,  and  more  may, 
If  they  stay  here  but  till  St.  George's  day. 
All  ensigns  of  a  war  are  not  yet  dead, 
Nor  marks  of  wealth  so  from  a  nation  fled, 
But  they  may  see  gold  chains  and  pearl  worn 

then, 

Lent  by  the  London  dames  to  the  Lords'  men  : 
Withal,  the  dirty  pains  those  citizens  take, 
To  see  the  pride  at  Court,  their  wives  do  make  ; 
And  the  return  those  thankful  courtiers  yield, 
To  have  their  husbands  drawn  forth  to  the  field, 
And  coming  home  to  tell  what  acts  were  done 
Under  the  auspice  of  young  Swinnerton.4 
What  a  strong  fort  old  Pimlico  had  been  ! 
How  it  held  out  !  how,  last,  'twas  taken  in  !  — 
Well,  I  say,  thrive,  thrive,  brave  Artillery-yard, 
Thou  seed-plot  of  the  war  !  that  hast  not  spar'd 
Powder  or  paper  to  bring  up  the  youth 
Of  London,  in  the  military  truth, 
These   ten  years    day  ;   as  all  may  swear  that 

look 
But  on  thy  practice,  and  the  posture  book. 


3  Old  JEsof  Gundomar.~\  Gundomar  appears  not  to  hare 
owed  many  obligations  to  nature  :  he  was  howefer  a  shrewd 
politician,  and  a  bold  and  able  negotiator.  He  was  dreaded  by 
the  court,  and  disliked  by  the  people,  of  which  we  have  suffi- 
cient proof  in  the  repeated  attacks  made  upon  him  by  the 
dramatic  poets,  the  true  mirrors  of  their  times. 

+  Young  Swinnerfon.']  Sir  John  Swinnerton  was  mayor  of 
London  in  1612.  This  aspiring  and  heroic  youth  was  probably 
his  son.  The  father  had  endeared  himself  to  the  citizens  by 
many  benefactions. 


UNDERWOODS.  427 

He  that  but  saw  thy  curious  captain's  drill, 
Would  think  no  more  of  Flushing  or  the  Brill, 
But  give  them  over  to  the  common  ear, 
For  that  unnecessary  charge  they  were. 
Well  did  thy  crafty  clerk  and  knight,  Sir  Hugh, 
Supplant    bold    Panton,   and   brought  there  to 

view 

Translated  ^Elian's  tactics  to  be  read, 
And   the  Greek   discipline,   with  the   modern, 

shed 

So  in  that  ground,  as  soon  it  grew  to  be 
The  city-question,  whether  Tilly  or  he 
Were  now  the  greater  captain?  for  they  saw 
The  Berghen  siege,  and  taking  in  Bredau, 
So  acted  to  the  life,  as  Maurice  might, 
And  Spinola  have  blushed  at  the  sight. 

O  happy  artl  and  wise  epitome 
Of  bearing  arms  !  most  civil  soldiery  ! 
Thou  canst  draw  forth  thy  forces,  and  fight  dry 
The  battles  of  thy  aldermanity  ; 
Without  the  hazard  of  a  drop  of  blood  ; 
More  than  the  surfeits  in  thee  that  day  stood. 
Go  on,  increas'd  in  virtue  and  in  fame, 
And  keep  the  glory  of  the  English  name 
Up  among  nations.  In  the  stead  of  bold 
Beaucharnps  and  Nevills,  Cliffords,  Audleys  old, 
Insert  thy  Hodges,  and  those  newer  men, 
As  Stiles,  Dike,  Ditchfield,  Millar,  Crips,  and 

Feu: 
That  keep  the  war,  though  now  't   be  grown 

more  tame, 

Alive  yet  in  the  noise,  and  still  the  same, 
And  could,  if  our  great  men  would  let  their  sons 
Come  to  their  schools,  shew  them  the  use  of 

guns; 


428  UNDERWOODS. 

And  there  instruct  the  noble  English  heirs 

In  politic  and  military  affairs. 

But  he  that  should  persuade  to  have  this  done 

For  education  of  our  lordlings,  soon 

Should   he   [not]    hear  of    billow,  wind,    and 

storm 

From  the  tempestuous  grandlings,  who'll  inform 
Us,  in  our  bearing,  that  are  thus  and  thus, 
Born,  bred,  allied  ?  what's  he  dare  tutor  us  ? 
Are  we  by  book-worms  to  be  aw'd  ?  must  we 
Live  by  their  scale,  that  dare  do  nothing  free? 
Why  are  we  rich  or  great,  except  to  show 
All  license  in  our  lives?  what  need  we  know 
More  than  to  praise  a  dog,  or  horse  ?  or  speak 
The  hawking  language  ?  or  our  day  to  break 
With    citizens  ?    let    clowns     and     tradesmen 

breed 

Their  sons  to  study  arts,  the  laws,  the  creed: 
We  will  believe  like  men  of  our  own  rank, 
In  so  much  land  a  year,  or  such  a  bank, 
That  turns  us  so  much  monies,  at  which  rate 
Our  ancestors  imposed  on  prince  and  state. 
Let  poor  nobility  be  virtuous :  we, 
Descended  in  a  rope  of  titles,  be 
From  Guy,  or  Bevis,  Arthur,  or  from  whom 
The  herald  will :  our  blood  is  now  become 
Past  any  need  of  virtue.    Let  them  care, 
That  in  the  cradle  of  their  gentry  are, 
To  serve  the  state  by  councils  and  by  arms  : 
We  neither  love  the  troubles  nor  the  harms. 
What  love  you  then?  your  whore;  what  study  ? 

gait, 
Carriage,  and  dressing.    There  is  up  of  late 

The  Academy,  where  the  gallants  meet 

What !  to  make  legs  ?  yes,  and  to  smell  most 

sweet : 


UNDERWOODS.  429 

All  that  they  do  at  plays.     O  but  first  here 
They  learn  and  study  ;  and  then  practise  there 
But  why  are  all  these  irons  in  the  fire, 
Of  several  makings?  Helps,  helps,  to  attire 
His  lordship;  that  is  for  his  band,  his  hair 
This,  and  that  box  his  beauty  to  repair; 
This  other  for  his  eye-brows:  hence,  away, 
I  may  no  longer  on  these  pictures  stay, 
These  carcases  of  honour ;  tailors'  blocks 
Cover'd  with  tissue,  whose  prosperity  ir  ocks 
The  fate  of  things ;  whilst  tatter'd  virtue  holds 
Her  broken  arms  up  to  their  empty  moulds  ! 


LXIV. 

AN  EPISTLE 
To  MASTEE  ARTHUR  SQUIB. 

What  I  am  not,  and  what  I  fain  would  be, 

Whilst  I  inform  myself,  I  would  teach  thee, 

My  gentle  Arthur,  that  it  might  be  said 

One  lesson  we  have  both  learn'd,  and  well  read. 

I  neither  am,  nor  art  thou  one  of  those 

That  hearkens  to  a  jack's  pulse,  when  it  goes; 

Nor  ever  trusted  to  that  friendship  yet, 

Was  issue  of  the  tavern  or  the  spit: 

Much  less  a  name  would  we  bring  up,  or  nurse, 

That  could  but  claim  a  kindred  from  the  purse. 

Those  are  poor  ties  depend  on  those  false  ends, 

'Tis  virtue  alone,  or  nothing,  that  knits  friends. 

And  as  within  your  office5  you  do  take 

No  piece  of  money,  but  you  know,  or  make 

*  And  as  -within  your  office^  &c.]  It  appears  that  this  gentle, 
man  was  one  of  the  principal  clerks  in  the  Exchequer.  I  find 
sereral  of  his  name,  in  succession,  in  the  books  of  that  office. 


430  UNDERWOODS. 

Inquiry  of  the  worth  ;  so  must  we  do, 
First  weigh  a  friend,  then  touch  and  try  him  too  : 
For  there  are  many  slips  and  counterfeits.8 
Deceit  is  fruitful :  Men  have  masks  and  nets  ; 
But  these  with  wearing  will  themselves  unfold, 
They  cannot  last.  No  lie  grew  ever  old. 
Turn  him,  and  see  his  threads;  look  if  he  be 
Friend  to  himself  that  would  be  friend  to  thee. 
For  that  is  first  required,  a  man  be  his  own  : 
But  he  that's  too  much  that,  is  friend  of  none. 
Then  rest,  and  a  friend's  value  understand, 
It  is  a  richer  purchase  than  of  land. 

LXV. 

AN    EPIGRAM 

ON  SIR  EDWARD  COKE,? 
WHEN  HE  WAS  LOBD  CHIEF  JUSTICE  OF  ENGLAND. 

He  that  should  search  all  glories  of  the  gown, 
And  steps  of  all  raised  servants  of  the  crown, 

•  For  there  are  many  slips  and  counterfeits.]  For  these  terras, 
see  vol.  vi.  p.  77. 

7  An  epigram  on  sir  Edward  Coke.]  Addressed  to  him,  pro- 
bably when  he  was  created  lord  chief  justice,  in  the  year  160C. 

WHAL. 

Whalley  assigns  too  early  a  date  to  this  Epigram :  Coke 
was,  as  be  says,  created  lord  chief  justice  in  1606 ;  but  it 
was  of  the  Common  pleas  :  he  did  not  take  the  style  of  lord 
chief  justice  of  England^  till  he  was  advanced  to  the  King's- 
bench  in  1613,  when  he  was  in  his  sixty-fifth  year.  Jonson 
follows  the  style  of  sir  Edward  in  giving  him  this  title,  which 
he  appears  to  have  affected,  and  which  James  objected  to  his 
assuming — "  He  calls  himself  in  his  books,"  the  king  says,  "lord 
chief  justice  of  England,"  whereas  he  can  challenge  no  more 
but  lord  chief  justice  of  the  King's-bench." 

This  great  lawyer  did  not  bear  his  faculties  meekly.  His  proud 


UNDERWOODS.  431 

He  could  not  find  than  thee,  of  all  that  store, 
Whom  fortune  aided  less,  or  virtue  more. 
Such,  Coke,  were  thy  beginnings,  when  thy  good 
In  others  evil  best  was  understood  : 
When,  being  the  stranger's  help,  the  poor  man's 

aid, 

Thy  just  defences  made  th*  oppressor  afraid. 
Such  was  thy  process,  when  integrity, 
And  skill  in  thee  now  grew  authority, 
That  clients  strove  in  question  of  the  laws, 
More  for  thy  patronage,  than  for  their  cause, 
And  that  thy  strong  and  manly  eloquence 
Stood  up  thy  nation's  fame,  her  crown's  defence; 
And  now  such  is  thy  stand,  while  thou  dost  deal 
Desired  justice  to  the  public  weal, 
Like  Solon's  self,  explat'st  the  knotty  laws 
With  endless  labours,*  whilst  thy  learning  draws 

and  overbearing  spirit  involved  him  in  various  prosecutions ; 
his  office  was  taken  from  him  in  1616,  and  the  residue  of  his 
life  was  spent  in  a  strange  and  rapid  alternation  of  favour  and 
disgrace,  of  turbulence  and  submission.  He  died  in  1634  at  the 
age  of  eighty-six :  had  it  been  his  good  fortune  to  follow 
his  royal  mistress  to  the  grave,  he  would  have  come  down 
to  us  not  only  as  one  of  the  most  eminent  lawyers  this  country 
ever  produced,  but  as  one  of  the  most  dignified  and  respectable 
characters  of  his  age. 

As  a  composition,  this  Epigram  boasts  considerable  merit.  It 
is  vigorous  and  manly  ;  has  truth  for  its  basis,  and  characterises 
both  the  author  and  his  works  with  discrimination  and  judgment. 
I  suppose  it  to  be  written  in  1613. 

•  Like  Solon's  self,  explat'st  the  knotty  laws, 

With  endless  labour,  &c.]  I  never  yet  met  with  the  word 
explafst)  but  do  not  take  upon  me  to  pronounce  it  a  corruption. 
When  I  consider  the  license  which  Jonson  sometimes  allowed 
himself  of  coining  an  expressive  word;  I  am  tempted  to  think 
this  proceeded  from  the  same  poetic  mint.  WHAL. 

Whalley  is  wrong.  Jonson  sometimes  uses  a  Latin  word,  but 
then  he  prints  it  in  a  different  character :  his  latinisms  are 
those  of  his  contemporaries.  All  our  old  writers  use  pleat, 
plight,  for  wreath,  curl,  fold,  &c.  from  plico;  expleat  is  as 


432  UNDERWOODS. 

No  less  of  praise,  than  readers,  in  all  kinds 
Of  worthiest  knowledge,  that  can  take  men's 

minds. 

Such  is  thy  all,  that,  as  I  sung  before, 
None  Fortune  aided  less,  or  virtue  more. 
Or  if  chance  must  to  each  man  that  doth  rise, 
Needs  lend  an  aid,  to  thine  she  had  her  eyes. 


LXVI. 

AN  EPISTLE, 

ANSWERING  TO  ONE  THAT  ASKED  TO  BE  SEALED  OF 
THE  TRIBE  OF  BEN.1 

Men  that  are  safe  and  sure  in  all  they  do, 
Care  not  what  trials  they  are  put  unto : 

correctly  formed  from  explico,  to  open,  smooth,  display,  &c. 
Expiation,  a  kindred  word,  is  in  Cole,  and  displeat  and  unpleat 
are  sufficiently  common  in  our  old  poets.  Explica  frontem  is 
rendered  by  Jo.  Davies,  in  his  eclogue,  1620,  "  Unpleat  thy 
brow." 

9  An  Epistle,  &c.]  This  appears  from  internal  evidence,  to 
have  been  written  not  long  before  the  death  of  James.  It  was 
the  practice  of  the  older  poets,  upon  request,  to  adopt  young  men 
of  talents  in  whose  reputation,  or  success  in  life,  by  a  species 
of  patronage  or  filiation,  they  became  warmly  interested.  Jon- 
son  had  many  sons  of  this  kind,  and  to  an  aspirant  for  the 
honour  of  becoming  such  (probably,  to  Randolph  or  Cleveland) 
he  addresses  the  above  Epistle.  The  number  of  his  adopted 
progeny  is  alluded  to  in  the  foolish  expression  of  one  "  that 
asked,"  &c. 

There  is  a  spirit  and  vigour  in  this  Epistle  which  do  the  poet 
great  credit.  The  sentiments  are  manly,  and  some  of  them 
drawn  from  the  higher  philosophy.  It  wants  the  smoothness 
and  the  artificial  rhythm  of  these  times ;  but  what  poem  of 
equal  length,  of  these  times,  possesses  such  depth  of  thought 
and  force  of  expression  ? 


UNDERWOODS.  433 

They  meet  the  fire,  the  test,  as  martyrs  would, 
And  though  opinion  stamp  them  not,  are  gold. 
I  could  say  more  of  such,  but  that  I  fly 
To  speak  myself  out  too  ambitiously, 
And  shewing  so  weak  an  act  to  vulgar  eyes, 
Put  conscience  and  my  right  to  compromise. 
Let  those  that  merely  talk,  and  never  think, 
That  live  in  the  wild  anarchy  of  drink, 
Subject  to  quarrel  only  ;  or  else  such 
As  make  it  their  proficiency,  how  much 
They've  glutted  in,  and  letcher'd  out  that  week, 
That  never  yet  did  friend  or  friendship  seek, 
But  for  a  sealing  :*  let  these  men  protest. 
Or  th*  other  on  their  borders,  that  will  jest 
On  all  souls  that  are  absent ;  even  the  dead, 
Like  flies  or  worms,  which  man's  corrupt  parts 

fed: 

That  to  speak  well,  think  it  above  all  sin, 
Of  any  company  but  that  they  are  in, 
Call'd  every  night  to  supper  in  these  fits, 
And  are  received  for  the  Covey  of  Wits  ; 
That  censure  all  the  town,  and  all  the  affairs, 
And  know  whose  ignorance  is  more  than  theirs  : 
Let  these  men  have  their  ways,  and  take  their 

times 

To  vent  their  libels,  and  to  issue  rhymes, 
I  have  no  portion  in  them,  nor  their  deal 
Of  news  they  get,  to  strew  out  the  long  meal; 2 
I  study  other  friendships,  and  more  one, 
Than  these  can  ever  be,  or  else  wish  none. 

1  But  for  a  sealing.]  i.  e.  becoming  sureties  for  them,  joining 
them  in  their  bonds. 

* — nor  their  deal 

Of  news  they  get,  to  strew  out  the  long  meal.]  This  is  the 
town's  honest  man,  described  with  such  scorn  and  indignation  in 
a  former  page.  See  Epig.  cxr. 

VOL.  VIII.  F  f 


434  UNDERWOODS. 

What  is't  to  me,  whether  the  French  design 
Be,  or  be  not,  to  get  the  Valteline  ? 
Or  the  States'  ships  sent  forth  he  like  to  meet 
Some  hopes  of  Spain  in  their  West  Indian  fleet? 
Whether  the  dispensation  yet  be  sent, 
Or  that  the  match  from  Spain  was  ever  meant  ? 
I  wish  all  well,  and  pray  high  heaven  conspire 
My  prince's  safety,  and  my  king's  desire ; 
But  if  for  honour  we  must  draw  the  sword, 
And  force  back  that  which  will  not  be  restor'd, 
I  have  a  body  yet  that  spirit  draws, 
To  live,  or  fall  a  carcase,  in  the  cause. 
So  far  without  enquiry  what  the  States, 
Brunsfield,  and  Mansfield,  do  this  year,  my  fates 
Shall  carry  me  at  call ;  and  I'll  be  well, 
Though  I  do  neither  hear  these  news,  nor  tell 
Of  Spain  or  France;    or  were  not  prick'd  down 

one, 

Of  the  late  mystery  of  reception  ; 
Although  my  fame  to  his  not  under-hears, 
That  guides  the  motions,  and  directs  the  bears. 
But  that's  a  blow,  by  which  in  time  I  may 
Lose  all  my  credit  with  my  Christmas  clay, 
And  animated  porcelaine  of  the  court; 
Ay,  and  for  this  neglect,  the  coarser  sort 
Of  earthen  jars  there,  may  molest  me  too  : 
Well,  with  mine  own  frail  pitcher,  what  to  do 
I  have  decreed  ;  keep  it  from  waves  and  press, 
Lest  it  be  justled,  crack'd,  made  nought,  or  less. 
Live  to  that  point  I  will,  for  which  I  am  man, 
And  dwell  as  in  my  centre,  as  I  can, 
Still  looking  to,  and  ever  loving  heaven; 
With  reverence  using  all  the  gifts  thence  given  : 
'Mongst  which,  if  I  have  any  friendships  sent, 
Such  as  are  square,  well-tagg'd,  and  permanent, 
Not  built  with  canvas,  paper,  and  false  lights, 
As  are  the  fflorious  scenes  at  the  ^reat  sights: 

c?  c?  ^j 


UNDERWOODS.  435 

And  that  there  be  no  fevety  heats  nor  colds, 
Oily  expansions,  or  shrunk  dirty  folds, 
But  all  so  clear,  and  led  hy  reason's  flame, 
As  but  to  stumble  in  her  sight  were  shame  ; 
These  I  will  honour,  love,  embrace,  and  serve, 
And  free  it  from  all  question  to  preserve. 
So  short  you  read  my  character,  and  theirs 
I  would  call  mine,  to  which  not  many  stairs 
Are  ask'd  to  climb.     First  give  me  faith,  who 

know 

Myself  a  little  ;  I  will  take  you  so, 
As  you  have  writ  yourself :  now  stand,  and  then, 
Sir,  you  are  Sealed  of  the  Tribe  of  BEN. 

LXVII. 

THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  KING*S  NEW  CELLAR 

TO  BACCHUS. 
Accessit fervor  capiti,  numcrusque  lucernis. 

Since,  BACCHUS,  thou  art  father 
Of  wines,  to  thee  the  rather 
We  dedicate  this  Cellar, 
Where  no\v  thou  art  made  dweller, 
And  seal  thee  thy  commission  : 
But  'tis  with  a  condition, 
That  thou  remain  here  taster 
Of  all  to  the  great  master; 
And  look  unto  their  faces, 
Their  qualities  and  races, 
That  both  their  odour  take  him, 
And  relish  merry  make  him. 

For,  Bacchus,  thou  art  freer 
Of  cares,  and  overseer 
Of  feast  and  merry  meeting, 
And  still  begin'st  the  greeting  : 
Ff2 


436  UNDERWOODS. 

See  then  thou  dost  attend  him, 
Lyseus,  and  defend  him, 
By  all  the  arts  of  gladness, 
From  any  thought  like  sadness. 
So  may'st  thou  still  be  younger 
Than  Phoebus,  and  much  stronger, 
To  give  mankind  their  eases, 
And  cure  the  world's  diseases  ! 

So  may  the  Muses  follow 
Thee  still,  and  leave  Apollo, 
And  think  thy  stream  more  quicker 
Than  Hippocrene's  liquor: 
And  thou  make  many  a  poet, 
Before  his  brain  do  know  it ! 
So  may  there  never  quarrel 
Have  issue  from  the  barrel, 
But  Venus  and  the  Graces 
Pursue  thee  in  all  places, 
And  not  a  song  be  other 
Than  Cupid  and  his  mother! 

That  when  king  James  above  here 
Shall  feast  it,  thou  may'st  love  there 
The  causes  and  the  guests  too, 
And  have  thy  tales  and  jests  too, 
Thy  circuits  and  thy  rounds  free, 
As  shall  the  feast's  fair  grounds  be. 
Be  it  he  holds  communion 
In  great  St.  George's  union  ; 
Or  gratulates  the  passage 
Of  some  well  wrought  embassage, 
Whereby  he  may  knit  sure  up 
The  wished  peace  of  Europe : 
Or  else  a  health  advances, 
To  put  his  court  in  dances, 
And  set  us  all  on  .skipping, 
When  with  his  royal  shipping, 


UNDERWOODS.  437 

The  narrow  seas  are  shady, 

And  Charles  brings  home  the  lady.1 

LXVIII. 
AN  EPIGRAM 

ON  THE  COURT  PUCELLE. 

Does  the  Court  Pucelle  then  so  censure  me, 
And  thinks  I  dare  not  her  ?  let  the  world  see. 
What  though  her  chamber  be  the  very  pit, 
Where  fight  the  prime  cocks  of  the  game,  for  wit ; 
And  that  as  any  are  struck,  her  breath  creates 
New  in  their  stead,  out  of  the  candidates  ! 
What  though  with  tribade  lust  she  force  a  muse, 
And  in  an  epicoene  fury  can  write  news 
Equal  with  that  which  for  the  best  news  goes, 
As  airy,  light,  and  as  like  wit  as  those  ! 
What  though  she  talk,  and  can  at  once  with  them 
Make  state,  religion,  bawdry,  all  a  theme  ; 
And  as  lip-thirsty,  in  each  word's  expense, 
Doth  labour  with  the  phrase  more  than  the  sense  ! 
What  though  she  ride  two  mile  on  holydays 
To  church,  as  others  do  to  feasts  and  plays, 
To  shew  their  tires,  to  view,  and  to  be  view'd  ! 
What  though  she  be  with  velvet  gowns  endued, 
And  spangled  petticoats  brought  forth  to  th*  eye, 
As  new  rewards  of  her  old  secrecy  ! 

3  And  Charles  brings  home  the  lady.]  This  was  written  when 
the  match  with  the  Infanta  of  Spain  was  in  agitation,  and  the 
prince  was  at  the  Spanish  court.  WHAL. 

This  cellar  was  built  by  Inigo  Jones.  The  circumstance  is 
worth  mentioning,  as  it  serres  to  corroborate  what  has  been 
more  than  once  asserted,  that  till  the  period  of  the  appearance 
ojf  Chlundia,  no  breach  of  friendship  had  talten  place  between 
him  and  our  author. 


438  UNDERWOODS, 

What  though  she  hath  won  on  trust,  as  many  do, 
And  that  her  truster  fears  her  !   must  I  too  ? 
I  never  stood  for  any  place :  my  wit 
Thinks  itself  nought,  though  she  should  value  it. 
I  am  no  statesman,  and  much  less  divine ; 
For  hawd'ry,  'tis  her  language,  and  not  mine. 
Farthest  I  am  from  the  idolatry 
To  stuffs  and  laces  ;  those  my  man  can  buy. 
And  trust  her  I  would  least,  that  hath  forswore 
In  contract  twice  ;  what  can  she  perjure  more  ? 
Indeed  her  dressing  some  man  might  delight, 
Her  face  there's  none  can  like  by  candle-light : 
Not  he,  that  should  the  body  have,  for  case 
To  his  poor  instrument,  now  out  of  grace. 
Shall  I  advise  thee,  Pucelle?  steal  away 
From  court,  while  yet  thy  fame  hath  some  small 

day ; 

The  wits  will  leave  you  if  they  once  perceive 
You  cling  to  lords ;  and  lords,  if  them  you  leave 
Forsermoneers  :  of  which  now  one,  now  other, 
They  say  you  weekly  invite  with  fits  o'  th'  mother, 
And  practise  for  a  miracle  ;  take  heed, 
This  age  will  lend  no  faith  to  Darrel's  deed  ; 4 

*  This  age  will  lend  no  faith  to  Barrel's  deed.]  Many  im- 
postures of  possession  by  evil  spirits  were  practised  about  this 
time  by  Roman  Catholics  to  delude  and  make  converts  of  the 
vulgar.  The  boy  of  Bilson  is  a  famous  instance.  Several  others, 
amongst  whom  is  this  of  Darrel,  are  mentioned  in  the  Devil  in 
an  Ass.  Darrel  was  the  author  of  a  book  printed  in  4to.  1600, 
intituled,  A  true  narration  of  the  strange  and  grievous  vexation  by 
the  devil,  of  seven  persons  in  Lancashire,  and  William  Sommers  of 
Nottingham :  as  perhaps  he  was  equally  concerned  in  carrying 
on  the  imposture.  This  book  was  answered  by  Dr.  Harsnet, 
afterwards  archbishop  of  York,  in  a  piece  intituled,  A  discovery 
of  the  fraudulent  practices  of  John  Darrel  minister.  WHAL. 

See  the  Devil  is  an  Ass,  for  a  fuller  account  of  these  im- 
postures. The  last  couplet  of  this  poem  has  a  singular  bearing 
on  the  juggle  of  Joanna  Seuthcote. 


UNDERWOODS.  439 

Or  if  it  would,  the  court  is  the  worst  place, 
Both  for  the  mothers,  and  the  babes  of  grace ; 
For  there  the  wicked  in  the  chair  of  scorn, 
Will  calPt  a  bastard,  when  a  prophet's  born. 


LXIX. 
AN   EPIGRAM, 

TO  THE  HONOURED 
COUNTESS  OF    *  *  *. 

The  wisdom,  madam,  of  your  private  life, 

Wherewith  this  while  you  live  a  widow'd  wife, 

And  the  right  ways  you  take  unto  the  right, 

To  conquer  rumour,  and  triumph  on  spite  ; 

Not  only  shunning  by  your  act  to  do 

Aught  that  is  ill,  but  the  suspicion  too, 

Is  of  so  brave  example,  as  he  were 

No  friend  to  virtue,  could  be  silent  here ; 

The  rather  when  the  vices  of  the  time 

Are  grown  so  fruitful,  and  false  pleasures  climb, 

By  all  oblique  degrees,  that  killing  height 

From  whence  they  fall,  cast  down  with  their  own 

weight. 

And  though  all  praise  bring  nothing  toyour  name, 
Who  (herein  studying  conscience,  and  not  fame) 
Are  in  yourself  rewarded  ;  yet  'twill  be 
A  cheerful  work  to  all  good  eyes,  to  see 
Among  the  daily  ruins  that  fall  foul 
Of  state,  of  fame,  of  body,  and  of  soul, 
So  great  a  virtue  stand  upright  to  view, 
As  makes  Penelope's  old  fable  true, 
Whilst  your  Ulysses  hath  ta'en  leave  to  go. 
Countries  and  climes,  manners  and  men  to  know. 


440  UNDERWOODS. 

Only  your  time  you  better  entertain, 

Than  the  great  Homer's  wit  for  her  could  feign  ; 

For  you  admit  no  company  but  good, 

And  when  you  want  those  friends,  or  near  in 

blood, 

Or  your  allies,  you  make  your  books  your  friends, 
And  study  them  unto  the  noblest  ends, 
Searching  for  knowledge,  and  to  keep  your  mind 
The  same  it  was  inspired,  rich  and  refined. 

These  graces,  when  the  rest  of  ladies  view, 
Not  boasted  in  your  life,  but  practis'd  true, 
As  they  are  hard  for  them  to  make  their  own, 
So  are  they  profitable  to  be  known : 
For  when  they  find  so  many  m«et  in  one, 
It  Avill  be  shame  for  them,  if  they  have  none.* 

LXX. 

ON  LORD  BACON'S  BIRTH-DAY. 

Hail,  happy  GENIUS  of  this  ancient  pile  I 
How  comes  it  all  things  so  about  thee  smile  ?  « 

5  This  is  an  excellent  little  poem.  There  seems  to  hare  been 
no  occasion  for  suppressing  the  lady's  name.  It  would  not  be 
difficult  to  suggest  a  person  whom  the  lines  would  lit  ;  but  the 
safer  way,  perhaps,  is  to  follow  the  poet's  executors. 

*  Hail,  happy  genius  of  this  ancient  pile  ! 

How  comes  it  all  things  so  about  thee  smile?]  When  lord 
Bacon  was  high  chancellor  of  England,  he  procured  from  the 
king  York-house  for  the  place  of  his  residence,  for  which  he 
seems  to  have  had  an  aifection,  as  being  the  place  of  his  birth, 
and  where  his  father  had  lived  all  the  time  he  possessed  the 
high  office  of  lord  keeper  of  the  great  seal.  Here,  in  the  be. 
ginning  of  the  year  1620,  he  kept  his  birth-day  with  great 
splendor  and  magnificence,  which  gave  occasion  to  the  compli- 
ment expressed  in  the  short  poem  above.  The  verse  indeed, 
like  most  of  Jonson's,  is  somewhat  harsh,  but  there  is  much 
good  sense,  and  a  vein  of  poetry  to  recommend  it  to  our  notice. 


UNDERWOODS.  441 

The  fire,  the  wine,  the  men !  and  in  the  midst 
Thou  stand'st  as  if  some  mystery  thou  didst ! 
Pardon,  I  read  it  in  thy  face,  the  day 
For  whose  returns,  and  many,  all  these  pray ; 
And  so  do  I.  This  is  the  sixtieth  year, 
Since  BACON,  and  thy  lord  was  born,  and  here; 
Son  to  the  grave  wise  Keeper  of  the  Seal, 
Fame  and  foundation  of  the  English  weal. 
What  then  his  father  was,  that  since  is  he, 
Now  with  a  title  more  to  the  degree; 
England's  high  Chancellor :  the  destin'd  heir, 
In  his  soft  cradle,  to  his  father's  chair : 

The  reader  will  observe  the  poem  implies  a  very  beautiful 
fiction ;  the  poet  starting,  as  it  were,  on  his  entering  York-house, 
at  the  sight  of  the  Genius  of  the  place  performing  some  mystery, 
which  he  discovers  from  the  gaiety  of  his  look,  and  takes  oc- 
casion from  thence  to  form  the  congratulatory  compliment. 

WHAL. 

Nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  Jonson's  character  thau  the 
steadiness  of  his  friendship.  It  is  for  this  reason  (for  I  can  dis- 
cover no  other,)  that  Steevensand  Malone  insist  particularly  on 
thejicklencss  of  his  attachments!  When  Jonson  wrote  this  poeaa, 
lord  Bacon  was  in  the  full  tide  of  prosperity ;  the  year  after, 
misfortune  overtook  him ;  and  he  continued  in  poverty,  neglect, 
and  disgrace  till  his  death,  which  took  place  in  1627.  Yet  the 
poet  did  not  change  his  language ;  nor  allow  himself  to  be 
checked  by  the  unpopularity  of  the  Ex-chancellor's  name,  or 
the  dread  of  displeasing  his  sovereign  and  patron,  from  bearing 
that  generous  testimony  to  his  talents  and  virtues  which  is  in- 
serted in  his  Discoveries,  and  which  concludes  with  these  words. 
"  My  conceit  of  lord  Verulam's  person  was  never  increased  by 
his  place  or  honour  :  but  I  have,  and  do  reverence  him  for  the 
greatness  that  was  only  proper  to  himself,  in  that  he  seemed  to 
me  ever  by  his  work  one  of  the  greatest  men,  and  most  worthy 
of  admiration,  that  had  been  in  many  ages.  In  his  adversity  I 
ever  prayed  that  God  would  give  him  strength,  for  greatness  he 
could  not  want.  Neither  could  I  condole,  in  a  word  or  syllable 
for  him  ;  as  knowing  no  accident  could  do  harm  to  virtue ;  but 
rather  help  to  make  it  manifest."  This,  with  the  commentators' 
leave,  is  a  very  pretty  specimen  of  **  old  Ben's  flattery  of  kings," 
aud  "  hatred  of  all  merit  but  his  own  !" 


442  UNDERWOODS. 

Whose  even  thread  the  fates  spin  round  and  full, 
Out  of  their  choicest  and  their  whitest  wool. 
Tis  a  brave  cause  of  joy,  let  it  be  known, 
For  'twere  a  narrow  gladness,  kept  thine  own. 
Give  me  a  deep-crown'd  bowl,  that  I  may  sing, 
In  raising  him,  the  wisdom  of  my  king. 


LXXI. 
THE  POET  TO  THE  PAINTER/ 

AN  ANSWER. 

Why,  though  I  seem  of  a  prodigious  waist, 
I  am  not  so  voluminous  and  vast, 
But  there  are  lines,  wherewith  I  might  be'  em- 
brac'd. 

7  The  Poet  to  the  Painter,}  This  is  an  "  answer,"  as  Jonson 
calls  it,  to  the  following  miserable  attempt  at  Terse,  by  sir 
William  Burlase: 

THE  PAINTER  TO  THE  POET. 

To  paint  thy  worth,  if  rightly  I  did  know  if, 
And  were  but  painter  half  like  thee,  a  poet ; 
BEN,  I  would  shew  it : 

But  in  this  skill  my  unskilful  pen  will  tire, 
Thou,  and  thy  worth  will  still  be  found  far  higher ; 
And  I  a  liar. 

Then,  what  a  painter's  here  ?  or  what  an  eater 
Of  great  attempts !  when  as  his  skill's  no  greater, 
And  he  a  cheater  ? 

Then,  what  a  poet's  here  !  whom,  by  confession 
Of  all  with  me,  to  paint  without  digression 

There's  no  expression. 

I  cannot  be  confident  that  I  understand  this  :  It  would  seem 


UNDERWOODS      .  443 

'Tis  true,  as  my  womb  swells,  so  my  back  stoops, 
And  the  whole  lump  grows  round,  deform'd,  and 

droops ; 
But  yet  the  Tun  at  Heidelberg  had  hoops. 

You  were  not  tied  by  any  painter's  law 
To  square  my  circle,  I  confess,  but  draw 
My  superficies  :  that  was  all  you  saw. 

Which  if  in  compass  of  no  art  it  came 

To  be  described  by  a  monogram, 

With  one  great  blot  you  had  form'd  me  as  lam. 

But  whilst  you  curious  were  to  have  it  be 
An  archetype,  for  all  the  world  to  see, 
You  made  it  a  brave  piece,  but  not  like  me. 

O,  had  I  now  your  manner,  mastery,  might, 
Your  power  of  handling,  shadow,  air,  and  spright, 
How  I  would  draw,  and  take  hold  and  delight! 

But  you  are  he  can  paint,  I  can  but  write: 
A  poet  hath  no  more  but  black  and  white, 
Ne  knows  he  flattering  colours,  or  false  light. 

Yet  when  of  friendship  I  would  draw  the  face, 
A  letter'd  mind,  and  a  large  heart  would  place 
To  all  posterity;  I  will  write  BURLASE. 

as  if  sir  W.  Burlase  had  made  a  drawing  or  a  painting  of  the 
poet,  to  which  this  doggrel  served  as  an  accompaniment. 

There  is  an  Edmund  Burlase  who  has  a  copy  of  yerses  on  the 
death  of  sir  Horace  Vere,  (1642,)  but  whether  related  to  this 
sir  William,  I  cannot  tell.  If  he  was  his  son,  the  family  vein  of 
poetry  had  much  improved,  for  he  writes  well. 


444  UNDERWOODS. 

LXXII, 
AN   EPIGRAM 

TO 

WILLIAM  EARL  OF  NEWCASTLE.' 

When  first,  my  lord,  I  saw  you  back  your  horse, 
Provoke  his  mettle,  and  command  his  force 
To  all  the  uses  of  the  field  and  race, 
Methought  I  read  the  ancient  art  of  Thrace, 

*  Of  this  distinguished  nobleman,  the  pride  and  ornament  of 
the  British  Peerage,  a  most  interesting  account  is  given  by  lord 
Clarendon,  with  whom  he  stood  deservedly  high.  "  Nobody 
but  lord  Orford,  (says  sir  E.  Bridges,)  who  could  decry  sir 
Philip  Sidney,"  (and  lord  Falkland,)  "  would  have  traduced  a 
man  possessed  of  so  many  qualities  to  engage  the  esteem  of 
mankind  as  the  duke  of  Newcastle :  but  lord  Orford  had  a 
tendency  to  depreciate  the  loyalists.''  He  had  a  tendency  to 
depreciate  whatever  was  great  and  good.  Dead  to  every  gene- 
rous feeling,  selfish,  greedy,  and  sneakingly  ostentatious,  Wai- 
pole,  in  the  midst  of  a  baby-house,  surrounded  with  a  collection 
of  childish  trumpery,  had  the  audacity  to  speak  in  this  manner 
of  a  man,  who,  after  strenuously  fulfilling  every  daty  of  life,  as 
a  patriot,  a  soldier,  and  a  statist,  retired  to  his  paternal  seat, 
where  he  lived  in  the  practice  of  a  magnificent  hospitality,  the 
friend  of  genius,  the  liberal  patron  of  worth,  employing  the 
close  of  an  active  and  honourable  life  in  innocent  and  elegant 
pursuits  which  might  benefit  many,  and  could  injure  none. 

"  What  a  picture  of  foolish  nobility  was  this  stately  poetic 
couple,  (the  duke  and  duchess)  retired  to  their  own  little 
domain"  (it  was  at  least  as  extensive  as  Strawberry- hill)  "  and 
intoxicating  one  another  with  circumstantial  flattery  on  what 
was  of  consequence  to  no  mortal  but  themselves."  Surely  the  demon 
of  Vengeance  must  have  been  at  Walpole's  elbow,  when  he 
penned  this  sentence.  Royal  and  Noble  Authors. 


UNDERWOODS.  445 

And  saw  a  centaur,'  past  those  tales  of  Greece, 
So  seem'd  your  horse  and  you  both  of  a  piece  ! 
You  shew'd  like  Perseus  upon  Pegasus, 
Or  Castor  mounted  on  his  Cyllarus ; 
Or  what  we  hear  our  home-born  legend  tell, 
Of  bold  sir  Bevis,  and  his  Arundel; 
Nay,  so  your  seat  his  beauties  did  endorse, 
As  I  began  to  wish  myself  a  horse  :  * 
And  surely,  had  I  but  your  stable  seen 
Before,  I  think  my  wish  absolv'd  had  been. 
For  never  saw  I  yet  the  Muses  dwell, 
Nor  any  of  their  household,  half  so  well. 
So  well !  as  when  I  saw  the  floor  and  room, 
I  look'd  for  Hercules  to  be  the  groom ; 
And  cried,  Away  with  the  Csesarian  bread ! 
At  these  immortal  mangers  Virgil  fed.2 

»  Methougkt  I  read  the  ancient  art  of  Thrace, 

And  saw  a  centaur,  &c.]  The  earl  of  Newcastle  was  the 
most  accomplished  horseman  of  his  time  :  his  celebrated  work 
on  the  method  of  managing  horses,  of  which  a  magnificent  edi- 
tion in  folio  appeared  some  years  ago,  was  not  published  during 
the  poet's  life. 

1  As  I  began  to  wish  myself  a  horse.~\  This  is  probably  an  al- 
lusion to  the  yery  pretty  incident  with  which  sir  Philip  Sidney 
so  aptly  opens  his  Defence  of  Poesy.  Pietro  Pugliana,  he  says, 
discoursed  with  such  fertileness  and  spirit  on  the  various  merits 
of  the  animal,  u  that  if  I  had  not  been  a  piece  of  a  logician 
before  I  came  to  him,  I  think  he  would  have  persuaded  me  to 
have  wished  inyselj  a  horse." 

* Away  with  the  Caesarian  bread  ! 

At  these  immortal  mangers  Virgil  fed.]  Alluding  to  that 
circumstance  in  the  life  of  Virgil,  of  his  being  employed  in  the 
stables  of  Augustus,  and  baring  his  customary  allowance  of 
bread  doubled,  for  the  judgment  he  gave  of  a  colt  the  emperor 
had  just  bought.  WHAL. 


446  UNDERWOODS. 

LXXIII. 

EPISTLE 
TO  MASTER  ARTHUR  SQUIB. 

I  am  to  dine,  friend,  where  I  must  be  weigh'd 

For  a  just  wager,  and  that  wager  paid 

If  I  do  lose  it ;  and,  without  a  tale, 

A  merchant's  wife  is  regent  of  the  scale. 

Who    when  she  heard    the    match,    concluded 

straight, 

An  ill  commodity !  it  must  make  good  weight.* 
So  that,  upon  the  point,  my  corporal  fear 
Is,  she  will  play  dame  justice  too  severe ; 
And  hold  me  to  it  close ;  to  stand  upright 
Within  the  balance,  and  not  want  a  mite ; 
But  rather  with  advantage  to  be  found 
Full  twenty  stone,  of  which  I  lack  two  pound  ; 
That's  six  in  silver  : 4  now  within  the  socket 
Stinketh  my  credit,  if,  into  the  pocket 
It  do  not  come  :  one  piece  I  have  in  store, 
Lend  me,  dear  ARTHUR,  for  a  week,  five  more, 

3  An  ill  commodity,  &c.]  The  lady  alludes,  I  presume,  to  the 
decisive  depression  of  the  scale,  exacted  in  the  weighing  of  coarse 
merchandize. 

*  But,  rather  with  advantage  to  be  found 

Full  twenty  stone;  of  which  I  lack  two  pound  : 
That's  six  in  silver ,]  The  wager,  it  seems,  was  that  the  poet 
weighed  full  twenty  stone,  but  he  found  that  he  wanted  two 
pounds  of  that  weight.  This  he  artfully  turns  to  a  reason  for 
borrowing  five  pounds  in  money  of  his  friend  Mr.  Squib,  which 
added  to  the  pound  he  had  of  his  own,  would  make  up  the  de- 
ficiency in  his  weight.  Six  pounds  in  silver,  he  says,  will  weigh 
two  pounds  in  weight :  it  may  be  so  ;  we  will  take  his  word. 

WHAL. 

I  doubt  whether  we  understand  the  nature  of  this  wager, 
which  was  probably  a  mere  jest.  If  the  sense  be  as  Whalley 
states  it,  there  is  as  little  of  art  as  of  honesty  in  it. 


UNDERWOODS.  447 

And  you  shall  make  me  good  in  weight  and  fashion, 
And  then  to  be  returned ;  or  protestation 

To  go  out  after: till  when  take  this  letter 

For  your  security.  I  can  no  better. 

LXXIV. 

To 
MASTER  JOHN  BURGES.* 

Would  God,  my  BURGES,  I  could  think 
Thoughts  worthy  of  thy  gift,  this  ink, 
Then  would  I  promise  here  to  give 
Verse  that  should  thee  and  me  outlive. 
But  since  the  wine  hath  steep'd  my  brain, 
I  only  can  the  paper  stain  ; 

*  To  Master  John  Surges.]  Burges  was  probably  the  deputy 
paymaster  of  the  household.  He  had  made  Jonson  a  present  of 
some  ink,  and  this  little  production,  which  wants  neither  spirit 
nor  a  proper  self-confidence,  inclosed,  perhaps,  the  return  for 
it.  Master  Burges  might  have  sent  the  wine  at  the  same  time. 

Jonson,  who  lived  much  about  the  court  while  his  health 
permitted  him  to  come  abroad,  seems  to  have  made  friends  of 
most  of  those  who  held  official  situations  there,  and  to  have 
been  supplied  with  stationary,  and,  perhaps,  many  other  petty 
articles.  The  following  is  transcribed  from  the  blank  leaf  of  a 
volume  of  miscellaneous  poetry,  formerly  in  the  possession  of 
Dr.  John  Hoadley,  son  of  the  bishop  of  Winchester.  He  has 
written  over  it,  "  A  Relique  of  Ben  Jonson." 

To  my  worthy  and  deserving  Brother 

Mr.  Alexander  Glover, 
as  the  Token  of  my  Love, 
And  the  perpetuating  of  our  Friendship, 
I  send  this  small,  but  hearty  Testimony  ; 
And  with  Charge,  that  it  remayne  wlh  Him, 
Till  I  at  much  expense  of  time  and  taper, 
With  'Chequer-Ink,  upon  his  gift,  my  paper, 
Shall  pour  forth  many  a  line,  drop  many  a  letter 
To  make  these  good,  and  what  comes  after,  better. 

BEN  JONSON. 


448  UNDERWOODS. 

Yet  with  a  dye  that  fears  no  moth, 
But  scarlet-like,  out-lasts  the  cloth. 


LXXV. 
EPISTLE 

TO  MY  LADY  CoVELL. 

You  won  not  verses,  madam,  you  won  me, 

When  you  would  play  so  nobly,  and  so  free, 

A  hook  to  a  few  lines  !  but  it  was  fit 

You  won  them  too,  your  odds  did  merit  it. 

So  have  you  gain'd  a  Servant  and  a  Muse  : 

The  first  of  which  I  fear  you  will  refuse, 

And  you  may  justly  ;  being  a  tardy,  cold, 

Unprofitable  chattel,  fat  and  old, 

Laden  with  belly,  and  doth  hardly  approach 

His  friends,  but  to  break  chairs,  or  crack  a  coach. 

His  weight  is  twenty  stone  within  two  pound ; 

And  that's  made  up,  as  doth  the  purse  abound.' 

Marry,  the  Muse  is  one  can  tread  the  air, 

And  stroke  the  water,  nimble,  chaste  and  fair ; 

Sleep  in  a  virgin's  bosom  without  fear, 

Run  all  the  rounds  in  a  soft  lady's  ear, 

Widow  or  wife,  without  the  jealousy 

Of  either  suitor,  or  a  servant  by. 

Such,  if  her  manners  like  you,  I  do  send  : 

And  can  for  other  graces  her  commend, 

To  make  you  merry  on  the  dressing-stool 

A  mornings,  and  at  afternoons  to  fool 

Away  ill  company,  and  help  in  rhyme 

Your  Joan  to  pass  her  melancholy  time. 

6  And  that's  made  up,  dec.]  Is  this  too  a  hint  ? — If  so,  it  must 
hare  sorely  puzzled  the  lady,  unless  she  had  previously  seen  the 
Epistle  to  master  Squib. 


UNDERWOODS.  449 

By  this,  although  you  fancy  not  the  man, 
Accept  his  muse  ;  and  tell,  I  know  you  can, 
How  many  verses,  madam,  are  your  due  ! 
I  can  lose  none  in  tendering  these  to  you. 
I  gain  in  having  leave  to  keep  my  day, 
And  should  grow  rich,  had  I  much  more  to  pay. 

LXXVI. 

To  MASTER  JOHN  BURGES. 

Father  JOHN  BURGES, 
Necessity  urges 
My  woeful  cry 
To  sir  Robert  Pie  :T 
And  that  he  will  venture 
To  send  my  debenture. 
Tell  him  his  Ben 
Knew  the  time,  when 
He  loved  the  Muses  ; 
Though  now  he  refuses, 
To  take  apprehension 
Of  a  year's  pension, 
And  more  is  behind : 
Put  him  in  mind 
Christmas  is  near ; 
And  neither  good  cheer, 

7  My  woeful  cry 

To  sir  Robert  Pie.]  Sir  Robert  Pie  was  appointed  to  the 
Exchequer  about  1618,  upon  the  resignation  of  sir  John  Ring- 
ley,  who  was  implicated  in  a  charge  of  peculation  with  the  lord 
treasurer,  the  earl  of  Suffolk.  Sir  Robert  was  a  retainer  of 
Buckingham's,  to  whose  interest  he  owed  his  promotion.  Hs 
was  the  ancestor  of  the  late  laureat,  under  whose  hands  the 
family  estate  vanished.  Mr.  Pye  had  probably  raised  his  woeful 
cry  to  the  treasurer  of  the  day  as  loudly  as  Jonson,  for  he  wa$ 
equally  clamorous  and  necessitous.  Such  are  the  mutations  of 
time! 

VOL.  VIII-  G  g 


450  UNDERWOODS. 

Mirth,  fooling,  nor  wit, 

Nor  any  least  fit 

Of  gambol  or  sport 

Will  come  at  the  court ; 

If  there  be  no  money, 

No  plover  or  coney 

Will  come  to  the  table, 

Or  wine  to  enable 

The  muse,  or  the  poet, 

The  parish  will  know  it. 

Nor  any  quick  warming-pan  help  him  to  bed  ; 
If  the  'Chequer  be  empty,  so  will  be  his  head. 

LXXVII. 
EPIGRAM 

TO  MY  BOOKSELLER. 

Thou,  friend,  wilt  hear  all  censures ;  unto  thee 
All  mouths  are  open,  and  all  stomachs  free : 
Be  thou  my  book's  intelligencer,  note 
What  each  man  says  of  it,  and  of  what  coat 
His  judgment  is ;  if  he  be  wise,  and  praise, 
Thank  him  ;  if  other,  he  can  give  no  bays. 
If  his  wit  reach  no  higher,  but  to  spring 
Thy  wife  a  fit  of  laughter  ;  a  cramp-ring 
Will  be  reward  enough  ;  to  wear  like  those, 
That  hang  their  richest  jewels  in  their  nose: 
Like  a  rung  bear  or  swine ;  grunting  out  wit 

As  if  that  part  lay  for  a *  most  fit ! 

If  they  go  on,  and  that  thou  lov'st  a-life 
Their  perfumed  judgments,  let  them   kiss  thy 
wife. 

*  A  word   has  been  dropt  in  the  folio,  and  I  cannot  re-in- 
state it. 


UNDERWOODS.  451 

LXXVIII. 

AN  EPITAPH 

ON  HENRY  LORD  LA-WARE.* 

If,  Passenger,  thou  canst  but  read, 

Stay,  drop  a  tear  for  him  that's  dead : 

HENRY,  the  brave  young  lord  LA-WARE, 

Minerva's  and  the  Muses  care ! 

What  could  their  care  do  'gainst  the  spite 

Of  a  disease,  that  lov'd  no  light 

Of  honour,  nor  no  air  of  good  ; 

But  crept  like  darkness  through  his  blood, 

Offended  with  the  dazzling  flame 

Of  virtue,  got  above  his  name? 

No  noble  furniture  of  parts, 

No  love  of  action  and  high  arts  ; 

No  aim  at  glory,  or  in  war, 

Ambition  to  become  a  star, 

Could  stop  the  malice  of  this  ill, 

That  spread  his  body  o'er  to  kill : 

And  only  his  great  soul  envied, 

Because  it  durst  have  noblier  died. 

*  The  son  of  Thomas,  lord  De-la-ware,  the  first  settler  of  the 
colony  of  Virginia,  of  which  he  was  appointed  captain-general 
by  James  I,  in  1609.  Henry  succeeded  him  as  fourth  lord 
De-la-ware,  in  1C  18,  and  died  in  1628,  the  date  of  this  Epitaph, 
at  the  early  age  of  25.  He  was  a  young  man  of  great  promise. 


452  UNDERWOODS. 

LXXIX. 

AN  EPIGRAM1 
To  THE  LORD-KEEPER. 

That  you  have  seen  the  pride,  beheld  the  sport, 
And  all  the  games  of  fortune,  play'd  at  Court, 
View'd  there  the  market,  read  the  wretched  rate, 
At  which  there  are  would  sell  the  prince  and  state : 
That  scarce  you  hear  a  public  voice  alive, 
But  whisper'd  counsels,  and  those  only  thrive; 
Yet  are  got  off  thence,  with  clear  mind  and  hands 
To  lift  to  heaven,  who  is't  not  understands 
Your  happiness,  and  doth  not  speak  you  blest, 
To  see  you  set  apart  thus  from  the  rest, 
T'obtain  of  God  what  all  the  land  should  ask  ? 
A  nation's  sin  got  pardon'd  !  'twere  a  task 
Fft  for  a  bishop's  knees  !  O  bow  them  oft, 
My  lord,  till  felt  grief  make  our  stone  hearts  soft, 
And  we  do  weep  to  water  for  our  sin. — 
He,  that  in  such  a  flood  as  we  are  in, 
Of  riot  and  consumption,  knows  the  way, 
To  teach  the  people  how  to  fast  and  pray, 
And  do  their  penance  to  avert  the  rod, 
He  is  the  Man,  and  favourite,  of  God. 

3  This  is  not  inscribed  to  any  one  in  the  folio ;  but  was  evi- 
dently addressed  to  the  lord- keeper  Williams,  bishop  of  Lin. 
coin.  It  "was  probably  written  in  1625,  when  the  chancellorship 
was  transferred  from  him  to  sir  Thomas  Coventry. 


UNDERWOODS.  453 

LXXX. 

AN    EPIGRAM 
TO  KING  CHARLES, 

FOR  AN  HUNDRED  POUNDS  HE  SENT  ME  IN 
MY  SICKNESS. 

MDCXXIX.4 

Great  CHARLES,  among  the  holy  gifts  of  grace, 

Annexed  to  thy  person  and  thy  place, 

'Tis  not  enough  (thy  piety  is  such) 

To  cure  the  call'd  king's-evil  with  thy  touch  ; 

+  Jonson  has  given  the  date  of  this  Epigram,  1629.  In  that 
•wretched  tissue  of  ignorance  and  malice  called  in  Gibber's  Col. 
lection,  "  the  Life  of  Ben  Jonson,"  it  is  stated  that  "  in  the 
year  1629,  Ben  fell  sick,  and  was  then  poor,  and  lodged  in  an 
obscure  alley  ;  his  Majesty  was  supplicated  in  his  fa?our,  who 
sent  him  ten  guineas.  When  the  messenger  delivered  the  sum, 
Ben  took  it  in  his  hand,  and  said,  '  His  Majesty  has  sent  me 
ten  guineas  because  I  am  poor  and  live  in  an  alley ;  go  and  tell 
him  that  his  soul  lives  in  an  alley,"  Vol.  i.  p.  238.  Here  is  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  injustice  with  which  the  character  of  Jonson  is 
universally  treated.  The  writer  of  his  u  Life"  had  before  him 
not  only  the  poet's  own  acknowledgment  that  the  sum  sent  to 
him  by  the  king  was  one  hundred  pounds,  but  three  poems  in 
succession  full  of  gratitude,  thankfulness,  and  respectful  duty, 
all  written  at  the  very  period  selected  by  his  enemies  for  charg- 
ing him  with  a  rude  and  ungrateful  message  to  his  benefactor. 

This  fabrication  was  too  valuable  to  be  neglected  ;  it  has 
therefore  been  disseminated  in  a  variety  of  forms  by  most  of  the 
Shakspeare  commentators.  Mr.  Malone  indeed,  rejects  the 
falsehood,  as  well  he  might :  he  goes  farther,  and  "  wonders," 
why  Smollet  should  insert  this  contemptible  lie  in  his  "  History 
of  England,"  and  above  all,"  where  he  found  it."  Mr.  Malone's 
surprize  is  gratuitous.  He  could  not  be  ignorant  of  Gibber's 
publication,  for  he  has  borrowed  from  it ;  and  he  must  have 
been  equally  aware  that  it  was  the  polluted  source  from  which 
Smollet,  who  was  probably  acquainted  with  the  writer,  (Shiels, 
A  Scotchman)  derived  his  ridiculous  anecdote.  Smollet  knew 


454  UNDERWOODS. 

But  thou  wilt  yet  a  kinglier  mastery  try, 
To  cure  the  poet's -evil,  poverty  : 
And  in  these  cures  dost  so  thyself  enlarge, 
As  thou  dost  cure  our  evil  at  thy  charge. 
Nay.  and  in  this,  thou  show'st  to  value  more 
One  poet,  than  of  other  folks  ten  score.* 
O  piety,  so  to  weigh  the  poors'  estates ! 
O  bounty,  so  to  difference  the  rates  ! 
What  can  the  poet  wish  his  king  may  do, 
But  that  he  cure  the  people's  evil  too  ? 


LXXXI. 

To  KING  CHARLES  AND  QUEEN  MARV, 

FOR  THE  LOSS  OF  THEIR  FIRST-BORN. 

AN  EPIGRAM  CONSOLATORY, 

MDCXXIX. 

Who  dares  deny,  that  all  first-fruits  are  due 
To  God,  denies  the  Godhead  to  be  true  : 

less  of  Jonson  than  even  Mr.  Malone  ;  he  knew  enough  how. 
ever  of  the  public  to  be  convinced  that  in  calumniating  him,  he 
was  on  the  right  side. 

Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  this  palpable  perversion  of  a  re- 
corded fact  will  be  less  current  hereafter  ?  Or  is  the  calumnia- 
tion of  Jonson  so  indispensible  to  the  interests  of  sound  litera- 
ture, that  a  falsehood  once  charged  upon  him  must  immediately 
assume  a  sacred  character,  and  in  despite  of  shame,  be  promul- 
gated, as  a  duty,  from  book  to  book,  and  from  age  to  age  ? 

s  i    , to  value  more 

One  poet,  than  of  other  folks  ten  score.]  This  alludes  to  the 
angf^  or  ten  shilling  piece  which  was  given  to  all  who  presented 
themselves  to  be  touched  for  the  king's-evil,  and  which  un- 
doubtedly presents  the  true  key  both  of  the  numerous  appli- 
cations, and  the  cares.  Ten-score  angels  make  an  hundred  pounds. 


UNDERWOODS.  455 

Who  doubts   those  fruits  God  can  with  gain 

restore, 

Doth  by  his  doubt  distrust  his  promise  more. 
He  can,  he  will,  and  with  large  interest,  pay 
What,  at  his  liking,  he  will  take  away. 
Then,  royal  Charles  and  Mary,  do  not  grutch 
That  the  Almighty's  will  to  you  is  such : 
But  thank  his  greatness  and  his  goodness  too ; 
And  think  all  still  the  best  that  he  will  do. 
That  thought  shall  make,  he  will  this  loss  supply 
With  a  long,  large,  and  blest  posterity  : 
For  God,  whose  essence  is  so  infinite, 
Cannot  but  heap  that  grace  he  will  requite. 

LXXXII. 
AN   EPIGRAM 

To  OUR  GREAT  AND  GOOD  KING  CHARLES,* 
ON  HIS  ANNIVERSARY  DAT, 

MDCXXIX. 

How  happy  were  the  subject  if  he  knew, 
Most  pious  king,  but  his  own  good  in  you  ! 

*  To  our  great  and  good  king  Charles.]  In  taking  leave  of  the 
Epigrams  of  this  year,  let  me  pluck  one  solitary  sprig  to  adorn 
the  head  of  this  "  good  king,"  (who  has  been  stripped  of  all  his 
honours  by  the  insatiable  rancour  of  the  heirs  of  the  ancient 
puritanism,)  from  the  garland  woven  for  him  by  Dr.  Burney. 

11  This  prince,  (Charles  I.)  however  his  judgment,  or  that  of 
his  counsellors,  may  have  misled  him  in  the  more  momentous 
concerns  of  government,  appears  to  have  been  possessed  of  an 
invariable  good  taste  in  all  the  fine  arts;  a  quality  which,  in 
less  morose  and  fanatical  times,  would  have  endeared  him  to 
the  most  enlightened  part  of  the  nation  :  but  now  his  patronage 
of  poetry,  painting,  architecture,  and  music,  was  ranked  among 


456  UNDERWOODS. 

How  many  times,  Livelong.  CHARLES!   would 

he  say, 

If  he  hut  weigh'd  the  blessings  of  this  day, 
And  as  it  turns  our  joyful  year  about, 
For  safety  of  such  majesty  cry  out  r 
Iml^ed,  when  had  Great  Britain  greater  cause 
1  han  now,  to  love  the  sovereign  and  the  laws; 
When  you  that  reign  are  her  example  grown, 
And  what  are  bounds  to  her,  you  make  your  own? 
When  your  assiduous  practice  doth  secure 
That  faith  which  she  professeth  to  be  pure  ? 
When  all  your  life's  a  precedent  of  days, 
And  murmur  cannot  quarrel  at  your  ways  ? 
How  is  she  barren  grown  of  love,  or  broke, 
That  nothing  can  her  gratitude  provoke  ! 
O  times !  O  manners  !  surfeit  bred  of  ease, 
The  truly  epidemical  disease  ! 
'Tis  not  alone  the  merchant,  but  the  clown, 
Is  bankruptturn'd ;  the  cassock,  cloke  and  gown, 
Are  lost  upon  account,  and  none  will  know, 
How  much  to  heaven  for  thee,  great  Charles, 

they  owe  ! 

the  deadly  sins,  and  his  passion  for  the  works  of  the  best  artists 
in  the  nation,  profane,  pagan,  popish,  idolatrous,  dark,  and 
damnable.  As  to  the  expenses  of  his  government,  for  the  levy, 
ing  which  he  was  driven  to  illegal  and  violent  expedients,  if 
compared  with  what  has  been  since  peaceably  and  cheerfully 
granted  to  his  successors,  his  extravagance  in  supporting  the 
public  splendor  and  amusements  of  his  court,  will  be  found  more 
moderate,  and  perhaps  more  innocent,  than  that  of  secret  service 
in  later  times  ;  and  however  gloomy  state-reformers  may  exe- 
crate this  prince,  it  would  be  ungrateful,  in  professors  of  any 
of  the  fine  arts,  to  lose  all  reverence  for  the  patron  of  Ben 
Jonson,  Vandyke,  Inigo  Jones,  and  Dr.  Child."  History  of 
Musick)  vol.  iii. 

This  Epigram  is  addressed,  in  the  Newcastle  MS.  "  To  the 
great  and  good  king  Charles,  by  his  Majesty's  most  humble 
and  thankful  servant,  Ben  Jonson."  Another  proof  of  the  poet's 
"  insolence  and  ingratitude"  ! 


UNDERWOODS.  457 

LXXXIII. 
AN   EPIGRAM 

ON  THE  PRINCE'S  BIRTH, 
MDCXXX. 

And  art  thou  born,  brave  babe  ?    blest  be  thy 

birtb, 
That  so  hath  crown'd  our  hopes,  our  spring,  and 

earth, 

The  bed  of  the  chaste  Lily  and  the  Rose  ! 
What  month  than  May  was  fitter  to  disclose 
This  prince  of  flow'rs?  Soon  shoot  thou  up,  and 

grow 

The  same  that  thou  art  promised,  but  be  sloxr, 
And  long  in  changing.  Let  our  nephews  sec 
Thee  quickly  come  the  garden's  eye  to  be, 
And  still  to  stand  so.  Haste  now,  envious  moon, 
And  interpose  thyself, 7  (care  not  how  soon) 

7 — —  Haste  now)  envious  moon, 

And  interpose  thyself,  &c.]  The  prince  (Charles  II.)  was 
born  this  year,  on  the  29th  of  May,  on  which  day  there  was 
an  eclipse  of  the  moon.  This  day  was  also  memorable  for  the 
appearance  of  a  star.  "  On  the  29th  of  May  (sir  Richard 
Baker  says)  the  queen  was  brought  to  bed  of  a  son  which  was 
baptized  at  St.  James's,  on  the  27th  of  June,  and  nauied  Charles. 
It  is  observed  that  at  his  nativity,  at  London,  was  seen  a  star 
about  noon-time :  what  it  portended,  good  or  ill,  we  leave  to 
the  astrologers." 

Bishop  Corbet  has  a  congratulatory  poem, — "  To  the  new- 
borne  prince,  upon  the  opposition  of  a  star  and  the  following 
eclipse  :"  It  abounds  in  all  that  extravagance  of  conceit,  which 
characterises  the  poetry  of  his  school.  Of  the  moon,  he  says, 

"  And  was't  this  news  that  made  pale  Cynthia  run 
In  so  great  haste  to  intercept  the  sun!" 


458  UNDERWOODS. 

And  threat  the  great  eclipse  ;  two  hours  but  run, 
Sol  will  re-shine:  if  not,  CHARLES  hath  a  son. 

Non  displicuisse  meretur 

Festinat  Caesar  qui placuisse  tibi* 

LXXXIV. 

AN  EPIGRAM 

TO  THE  QUEEN, 
THEN  LYING  IN, 

MDCXXX. 

Hail,  Mary,  full  of  grace !    it  once  was  said, 

And  by  an  angel,  to  the  blessed'st  maid, 

The  Mother  of  our  Lord  :  why  may  not  I, 

Without  profaneness,  as  a  poet,  cry, 

Hail,  MARY,  full  of  honours  !  to  my  queen, 

The  mother  of  our  prince  ?  when  was  there  seen, 

Except  the  joy  that  the  first  Mary  brought, 

Whereby  the  safety  of  mankind  was  wrought, 

So  general  a  gladness  to  an  isle, 

To  make  the  hearts  of  a  whole  nation  smile, 

As  in  this  prince  ?   let  it  be  lawful,  so 

To  compare  small  with  great,  as  still  we  owe 

Glory  to  God.  Then,  hail  to  Mary !  spring 

Of  so  much  safety  to  the  realm  and  king  ! 

And  he  questions  the  infant  very  significantly,  on  the  appearance 

of  the  star : 

u  Was  heaTen  afraid  to  be  out-done  on  earth 

When  thou  wertborn,  great  prince,  that  it  brought  forth 

Another  light  to  help  the  aged  sun, 

Lest  by  thy  lustre  he  might  be  out-shone  ? 

Or,  were  the  obsequious  stars  so  joy'd  to  view 

Thee,  that  they  thought  their  countless  eyes  too  few 

For  such  an  object?"  &c. 

*  After  this  Epigram  the  12mo  edition,  1640,  inserts  two 


UNDERWOODS.  459 

LXXXV. 
AN  ODE  on  SONG 

BY  ALL  THE  MuSES, 

1  N  CELEBRATION  OF  HER  MAJESTY'S  BIRTH-DAY. 
MDCXXX. 

1.  Clio.  Up,  public  joy,  remember 

This  sixteenth  of  November, 

Some  brave  uncommon  way  : 
And  though  the  parish-steeple 
Be  silent  to  the  people 

Ring  thou  it  holy-day. 

others  on  the  same  subject.  The  first,  on  the  Birth  of  the  Prwce, 
bears,  perhaps,  some  remote  resemblance  of  Jonsoif  s  style,  at 
least  as  much  of  it  as  is  here  subjoined  ;  but  the  concluding 
part  is  of  a  different  character,  and  could  only  have  proceeded 
from  some  wretched  imitator  of  Donne.  The  second  piece  called 
a  Parallel  of  the  Prince  to  the  King,  is  utterly  unworthy  of  no- 
tice. I  cannot  descend  to  vindicate  the  poet  from  either  of  them. 

ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  THE    PRINCE. 

Another  Phoenix,  though  the  first  is  dead, 
A  second's  flown  from  his  immortal  bed, 
To  make  this  our  Arabia  to  be 
The  nest  of  an  eternal  progeny. 
Choice  nature  fram'd  the  former,  but  to  find, 
What  error  might  be  mended  in  mankind  : 
Like  some  industrious  workmen,  which  affect 
Their  first  endeavours  only  to  correct : 
So  this  the  building,  that  the  model  was, 
The  type  of  all  that  now  is  come  to  pass  : 
That  but  the  shadow,  this  the  substance  is 
All  that  was  but  the  prophecy  of  this  : 
And  when  it  did  this  after  birth  forerun, 
'Twas  but  the  morning  star  unto  this  sifti  : 
The  dawning  of  this  day,  &c. 


460  UNDERWOODS. 

2  Mel.    What  though  the  thrifty  Tower, 
And  guns  there  spare  to  pour 

Their  noises  forth  in  thunder  : 
As  fearful  to  awake 
This  city,  or  to  shake 

Their  guarded  gates  asunder  ? 

3.  Thai.    Yet  let  our  trumpets  sound, 

And  cleave  both  air  and  ground, 

With  beating  of  our  drums  : 
Let  every  lyre  be  strung, 
Harp,  lute,  theorbo  sprung, 
With  touch  of  learned  thumbs. 

4.  Eut.     That  when  the  quire  is  full, 

The  harmony  may  pull 

The  angels  from  their  spheres  : 

And  each  intelligence 

May  wish  itself  a  sense, 
Whilst  it  the  ditty  hears. 

5.  Terp.  Behold  the  royal  Mary, 

The  daughter  of  great  Harry  ! 

And  sister  to  just  Lewis  ! 
Comes  in  the  pomp  and  glory 
Of  all  her  brother's  story, 

And  of  her  father's  prowess  ! 9 

'  Comes  in  the  pomp  and  glory 
Of  all  her  brother's  story, 

And  of  her  father's  prowess."}    So  the  folio  :  in  the  4to.  an 
12mo.  1640,  the  words  brother  and  father  stand  in  each  others 
places.     I  think  the  present  reading  is  most  consonant  to  the 
truth  of  history.     WHAL. 

As  I  hare  carefully  collated  all  the  editions,  and  formed  the 
text  according  to  the  best  of  my  judgment,  I  do  not  think  it 
necessary  to  encumber  the  page  with  a  list  of  minute  variations, 
most  of  which,  probably,  originated  at  the  press. 


UNDERWOODS.  4(51 

6.  Erat.  She  shows  so  far  above 

The  feigned  queen  of  love, 

This  sea  girt  isle  upon  : 
As  here  no  Venus  were  ; 
But  that  she  reigning  here, 

Had  put  the  ceston  on  ! 

7.  Call.    See,  see  our  active  king, 

Hath  taken  twice  the  ring,1 

Upon  his  pointed  lance : 
Whilst  all  the  ravish'd  rout 
Do  mingle  in  a  shout, 

Hey  for  the  flower  of  France ! 

8.  Ura.    This  day  the  court  doth  measure 

Her  joy  in  state  and  pleasure  ; 

And  with  a  reverend  fear, 
The  revels  and  the  play, 
Sum  up  this  crowned  day, 

Her  two  and  twentieth  year. 

9.  Poly.   Sweet,  happy  Mary,  all 

The  people  her  do  call, 

And  this  the  womb  divine  ! 
So  fruitful,  and  so  fair, 
Hath  brought  the  land  an  heir, 
And  Charles  a  Caroline  ! 

1  See,  see  our  active  king, 

Hath  taken  twice  the  ring.'}  This  amusement  generally  made 
a  part  of  the  court  entertainments  in  those  active  days.  A  ring 
of  small  diameter  was  suspended  by  a  riband  from  a  kind  of  tra- 
verse beam  of  which  the  horizontal  beam  moved  on  a  swivel.  At 
this  the  competitors  rode,  with  their  spear  couched,  at  full  speed. 
The  object  was  to  carry  off  the  ring  on  the  point  of  the  spear, 
which  was  a  matter  of  some  nicety :  the  usual  reward  of  the 
victor  was  an  ornamented  wreath  from  the  lady  of  the  day. 


462  UNDERWOODS. 

LXXXVI. 
AN  EPIGRAM 

TO  THE  HOUSEHOLD, 
MDCXXX." 

What  can  the  cause  be,  when  the  king  hath  given 
His  poet  sack,  the  Household  will  not  pay? 

Are  they  so  scanted  in  their  store  ?  or  driven 
For  want  of  knowing  the  poet,  to  say  him  nay  ? 

Well,  they  should  know  him,  would  the  king 
but  grant 

His  poet  leave  to  sing  his  Household  true ; 
He'd  frame  such  ditties  of  their  store  and  want, 

Wouldmake  thevcryGreen-cloth  tolookblue: 

And  rather  wish  in  their  expense  of  sack, 
So  the  allowance  from  the  king  to  use, 

a  It  is  said  by  the  anonymous  author  of  a  little  collection  of 
"  Poems,  by  Nobody  must  know  whom,"  (and  who  nevertheless 
every  body  may  know  to  be  John  Eliot)  that  this  Epigram  was 
thought  too  severe  by  the  board  of  green-cloth,  and  that  Ben 
therefore  wrote  a  second,  in  a  smoother  style,  and  with  better 
success. 

"  You  swore,  dear  Ben,  you'd  turn  "  the  green-cloth  blue" 
If  your  dry  muse  might  not  be  bath'd  in  sack  ; 
This  with  those  fearless  lords  nothing  prevailing, 
The  scene  you  alter'd,"  &c.     p.  26. 

This  poor  man,  who  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  counterpart  of 
Fenner  (vol.  vii.  p.  432.)  affects  to  be  familiar  with  Jonson, 
and  styles  himself  his  friend,  a  title  to  which  he  proves  his  claim 
somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Jonson's  other  '*  friend,"  Drum, 
mond  of  Hawthornden,  by  yelping  at  him. 


UNDERWOODS.  463 

As  the  old  bard  should  no  canary  lack ; 

'Twere  better  spare  a  butt,  than  spill  his  muse. 
For  in  the  genius  of  a  poet's  verse, 
The  king's  fame  lives.  Go  now,  deny  his  tierce ! * 


LXXXVII. 
AN  EPIGRAM 

TO  A  FRIEND,  AND  SON. 

Son,  and  my  friend,  I  had  not  call'd  you  so 
To  me;  or  been  the  same  to  you,  if  show, 
Profit,  or  chance  had  made  us  :  but  I  know, 
What,  by  that  name,  we  each  to  other  owe, 
Freedom  and  truth  ;  with  love  from  those  begot : 
Wise-crafts,  on  which  the  flatterer  ventures  not. 
His  is  more  safe  commodity  or  none: 
Nor  dares  he  come  in  the  comparison. 
But  as  the  wretched  painter,  who  so  ill 
Painted  a  dog,  that  now  his  subtler  skill 
Was,  t'  have  a  boy  stand  with  a  club,  and  fright 
All  live  dogs  from  the  lane,  and  his  shop's  sight, 
Till  he  had  sold  his  piece,  drawn  so  unlike : 
So  doth  the  flatterer  with  fair  cunning  strike 
At  a  friend's  freedom,  proves  all  circling  means 
To  keep  him  off;  and  howsoe'er  he  gleans 
Some  of  his  forms,  he  lets  him  not  come  near 
Where  he  would  fix,  for  the  distinction's  fear ; 
For  as  at  distance  few  have  faculty 
To  judge;  so  all  men  coming  near,  can  spy; 

3  Go  woo?,  deny  his  tierce.]  Of  wine ;  part  of  his  salary  as 
poet  laureat.  WHAL. 

This  was  the  second  to  which  the  poet  was  intitled.  The 
Household  quickly  fell  into  arrears  in  those  days. 


464  UNDERWOODS. 

Though  now  of  flattery,  as  of  picture,  are 
More  subtle  works,  and  finer  pieces  far, 
Than  knew  the  former  ages  ;  yet  to  life 
All  is  but  web  and  painting  ;  be  the  strife 
Never  so  great  to  get  them  :  and  the  ends, 
Rather  to  boast  rich  hangings,  than  rare  friends. 


EKD  OP  VOL.  VIJI. 


London:  printed  by  W.  Bulmer  and  Co. 
Cleveland-row,  St.  James's. 


Jonson,  Ben 

The  works  of  Ben  Jonson 


University 
College 


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